A Fire Not Blown
by Elizabeth7
Summary: SH / OC. A young woman is lost in Victorian London in strange circumstances. Can Holmes solve the mystery that surrounds her? Is she genuinely in trouble or a charlatan? He's determined not to be taken in, but he can't disprove her outlandish story. [NOW COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

_All darkness shall be hid in his secret places: a fire not blown shall consume him._

Job 20:26

 **Chapter One**

 _Your descendants will be strangers in a land that is not theirs._

Genesis 15:13

All Sarah remembered was visiting the grounds of an ancestral home which had long since passed into the hands of a different line of her family. Although her great grandfather had been the first born heir to the Mounteney estate, he had been disowned, the reason for which was a deep, dark family secret. Her line of the family did not keep in touch with the current owners although Sarah did not know why. Perhaps family feeling still ran deep or perhaps her branch of the family had merely been conveniently forgotten with time. At any rate, it was her first visit to the estate at the age of 21. On the tour she had signed up for, they were allowed to spend an hour exploring the grounds.

Sarah went directly to the lake which was beautiful and bounded by forest on one side. She was alone, as the rest of the party had preferred the pleasure gardens with the marble fountains and follies. Their voices faded over the crest of a slight, grassy hill. She wandered around the lake toward the forest. Suddenly, a dreadful fear suddenly descended on her mind as she reached the outer borders of the forest. It was so strong and so sudden that it almost seemed to come from outside her.

She waited without taking another step for a full five minutes trying to distinguish the origin of the fear. Was it something she had heard or seen out of the corner of one eye? Was there something unusual in this stretch lake shore that was so different from anything else she had already transversed? She could discern nothing at all. The sun filtered through the canopy in a perfectly normal way ahead of her. Sarah could hear no strange sound. There was nothing at all that her five senses could determine that could justify the sudden fear.

Sarah gritted her teeth and pulled herself together. She knew she was being ridiculous and she wasn't about to cave in to some ethereal and unfounded fear. She had spent many hours in solitude hiking without the slightest fear and now out of nowhere came this irrational feeling. Sarah forced her feet to move while every instinct she had screamed at her to return the way she had come.

Just past an enormous oak tree, the light faded quickly as the foliage above became much denser. Sarah's heart was pounding and she felt dizzy. She still could not locate any reason for this sudden descent into terror. Still sternly lecturing herself on her own absurdity, Sarah decided to move closer to the lake where there would be less trees and therefore more light. Just as she was stepping out of the dim greenish light, Sarah slipped on a mossy stone and began to fall. After that, she didn't remember a thing until she came around in a quaint and rather luxurious looking room.

Sarah could feel that she was grubby. The mud from the lake's edge still clung to her skin. She desperately wanted a shower. As Sarah slowly regained consciousness, she was able to take in more details of the room she was in. She was lying on a rather hard bed in one corner near a window. Heavy velvet curtains trimmed with brocade framed the glass and were held back with rich cording. The wallpaper was heavily patterned with an odd, old-fashioned pattern that looked Victorian and quaint. Sarah was used to the stark, minimalist style in regards to décor and to her, it looked like the epitome of bad taste. The ceiling was very high and molded in what struck her as being a very fanciful and over-done manner.

On the far side of the room near the only door was a heavy wooden desk. It looked like an antique that was so well cared for that it could have been brand new. On it was a heavy brass ink-stand. Sarah concluded that the owner of the room had a taste for antiques that bordered on the ridiculously impractical. What use could an ink-stand be in the age of computers? There was a blotter on the desk and some heavy looking, leather bound books.

Sarah closed her eyes again until she heard the door open and shut. A gentleman just on the right side of thirty had entered the room. He had a rather old-fashioned moustache and kind brown eyes. It was his peculiar dress that caught Sarah's attention. He obviously was an eccentric who lived in a by-gone century judging by both his personal appearance and the décor of his room. Sarah decided she rather liked him. She had a soft-spot for eccentrics, they were interesting.

"Hello, my dear. How are you feeling?" he asked very kindly and with a sympathetic look as he crossed over to where Sarah was lying. Even his accent was a bit old-fashioned. Like an actor in a Victorian drama.

"A bit odd but otherwise fine," Sarah replied frankly.

He frowned slightly. "I don't recognise your accent. What part of England are you from?" he said with a puzzled expression.

"I grew up in Kent," Sarah replied.

He gave her a mystified look.

"Only from Kent? Your people don't hail from elsewhere?" he asked mildly.

"My mother is from Kent, my father grew up in London," Sarah answered.

"Ah, well. Your accent is a bit unusual, that's all. Still, I don't have the best ear," the man said kindly.

Perhaps he was a looney, Sarah thought. If he was eccentric enough to dress and decorate the way he did, perhaps he lived in his own private fantasy and thought everyone should speak in that odd, old-fashioned way.

"Where am I?" Sarah asked.

"In London," he replied cheerfully.

"How did I get from Kent to London?" Sarah asked, frowning in confusion.

"The Duke found you unconscious down by the lake. I happened to be in the area and he knows about my… connections, so he asked me to bring you here," the man replied hesitantly.

 _A bit evasively_ , Sarah thought.

Sarah sat up carefully afraid that the dizzy feeling may come back and looked outside the window. Her mind reeled and she felt very odd. She honestly did not believe the evidence of her own eyes. Outside was a cobbled street with horse-drawn hansom cabs and char-le-bancs clopping up and down the street. There were people milling around in Victorian fashions.

"Is this a joke?" Sarah asked sharply. "Am I on a movie set?"

"I'm sorry madam but I don't know what a movie is," he replied mildly.

Sarah pursed her lips. She could see she was not going to get any further information from this strange man.

"Do you have my bag?" she asked anxiously, looking around.

He bent down and retrieved something from next to the bed. "Is this what you mean?" he asked politely, holding up her small carry bag.

"Yes, thank you," Sarah said gratefully. At least it was something she recognised, she thought.

"I would like you to meet a new friend of mine. He may be of assistance to you," the man suggested self-effacingly. "But first let me check that you are alright to get up." To Sarah's astonishment he went to a small table next to the bed and pulled out a very crude looking stethoscope. Sarah had no idea that this man was a doctor up to that point. There was certainly nothing of the doctor's surgery about the large and luxurious room.

He listed to Sarah's heart and checked her pulse and temperature. Finally he was satisfied and Sarah could get up.

"Who is this friend of yours?" she asked.

"His name is Sherlock Holmes," he replied with a cheerful smile.

Sarah simply stared at him. "Sherlock Holmes?" she repeated. "The only Sherlock Holmes I know of is a fictional private detective."

The man visibly started. "My dear, I assure you that Sherlock Holmes is not fiction, but how did you know of his profession?"

"I've heard of him," Sarah said with deliberate vagueness, realising that whatever was going on, she needed to play along for now.

Watson decided Sarah had had a blow to the head because he didn't pursue the point. "I am Dr Watson," he said kindly.

Sarah decided it was best to say nothing. There were two possibilities here. Either he was telling the truth and she had suddenly fallen into an odd time warp or he was completely mad. In either instance it would be best to practice discretion.

"The Duke thought you were a boy at first," Watson said genially, obviously trying to make conversation and distract Sarah from her current difficult circumstances.

"Why, because of the trousers?" Sarah asked, feeling rather amused.

"That and the short hair," Dr Watson replied.

"It's not that short," Sarah protested. She wore her hair in a slight concave bob that reached her chin in the front.

"There are plenty of boys with longer hair than yours madam," he said with a small smile and bow.

"Well, thank you for your care but unfortunately I don't have any money of the right denomination to pay you," Sarah explained, digging her purse out of her bag. She didn't think it would be wise to suddenly display modern notes at that point.

"You woke up very soon after you arrived so I haven't been put out at all, really. There is certainly no need for payment," he said gallantly.

"You're very kind," Sarah said with a smile. _Just like in the stories_ , she thought.

"I would like you to meet Mr Holmes," Dr Watson said, "Will you accompany me to his rooms?" he asked.

Sarah just nodded, not wanting to say too much.

"It's not far, just in Baker Street," he said, picking up his hat and cane. Gathering up her backpack, Sarah followed him outside to the street.

"I think we'd best take a cab," Watson said hailing one. "You would draw too much attention in those extraordinary clothes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 _Not if it is not so, who will prove me a liar,_

 _And make my speech worth nothing?_

Job 24:25

Sarah found the horse-drawn cab very slow and uncomfortable. It rattled and clattered over the cobbles until her teeth chattered. Fortunately it was only a few streets away and would have been an easy walk. If she was on a movie set, it was extraordinarily well-done, she reflected. It really was like stepping back in time. There was no evidence of anything modern in sight. No electrical wiring, no cars, no bitumen roads, no phone boxes, no plastic – nothing.

When Sarah found herself on the door step of 221B Baker Street, she couldn't help but grin. It was just too fantastical. She was still rather in shock and was merely following Watson's lead as she didn't have a clue what else to do. Still, to find herself at such a famous address was a thrill in the midst of her confusion. It was easier to concentrate on that then to puzzle about what had happened to her.

Dr Watson went straight up to the sitting room only to find his friend in a state of mind obviously elevated by cocaine. Sarah examined the real Holmes carefully. She had always enjoyed the stories (well, what she had thought were stories) and had read them all at least three times over. She was already fascinated by Sherlock Holmes and was now both excited and very curious to meet him. He was younger than she had imagined him when reading Dr Watson's accounts back in the twenty-first centuary. He would not have been thirty, she guessed. His features were sharp and lean as described in the stories and he was certainly tall and thin. He had a prominent, hawkish nose with thin lips and granite grey eyes that glittered with intelligence. His hair was very dark, side-parted and neatly slicked down, and rather thicker than the Strand magazine illustrations had given him credit for. At that moment he was sitting cross-legged on an arm chair in front of the fire with his head thrown back and his forearms resting on his knees. Sarah saw Dr Watson's mouth tighten when he saw the hypodermic needle on the desk under the window.

"Ah Watson! I do hope you have brought me something interesting to rouse me out of this dreadful malaise," he declared in a clear, firm voice. "It's been so dull this past week. You haven't missed a thing being away in Kent." Again, Sarah noticed the odd, old-fashioned accent – more polished and precise on the consonants, and with more rounded vowels.

"I can see you have already tried cocaine," Watson said disapprovingly.

"I couldn't stand this insufferable boredom one more minute, Watson," Holmes replied unabashed.

Holmes stared at Sarah rather closely as she followed Watson into the room.

"Where did you find this bedraggled bit of humanity, Watson? I've never seen a more extraordinary looking woman in my life," he said rather rudely.

He jumped up and went over to Sarah, examining her with cool incredulity. "Watson, you have done me a great favour! Now I won't have to take another dose today. Tell me your story," Holmes invited Sarah in a rather commanding tone and with a wave of his thin hand. He then yelled down the stairs for Mrs Hudson to bring up tea.

Sarah glanced at Holmes' hypodermic needle. It annoyed her that a person with such a brilliant mind would endanger it with such dangerous substances. It was self-abuse and why would he abuse himself, she wondered? That was an interesting question in itself. It was one that all the collected writings about Holmes never answered. To Sarah, it suggested a damaged man. She examined him more closely and with a compassionate eye. What did all that brilliance, achievement, eccentricity and arrogance disguise?

"I was born in Kent, I'm now 21," Sarah began. "I was on a tour at the Mounteney estate. I was looking around the lake when I slipped and fell down near the border of the forest. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in Dr Watson's surgery," she said shortly which was all she honestly knew about the matter.

"On a tour? Wandering down by the lake?" Holmes repeated. "Who else was with you?"

"No-one, I was by myself," Sarah replied.

"It's very foolish for a woman to go wandering around by herself," Holmes said disapprovingly.

"I've been hiking by myself many times," she retorted.

Holmes looked at Sarah carefully but didn't comment any further. "Then what?" he demanded of Watson.

"She was found by the Duke of Kent completely unconscious. He noticed she was breathing but otherwise unresponsive. He happened to know that I was in the area and of course, he knew of our association," Dr Watson explained.

"That's all?" Holmes remarked with a frown.

"That's all we know," Sarah said with a shrug. "Dr Watson brought me here as soon as I was awake."

"Well, there is no data Watson," Holmes said, almost petulantly. "How am I meant to work without data?"

"You could look at the lake," Watson suggested mildly.

"I had already determined to do that Watson," Holmes said distractedly.

At that moment, Mrs Hudson brought up the tea. Sarah sat with a fragile china cup and contemplated her options. She was surprised that she was able to contemplate anything in such an extraordinary set of circumstances, but the will to survive was strong, she supposed. She was in an alien environment with no allies or support system to turn to. She had no time for hysterics. She had to keep her head screwed on.

As for her options, she didn't appear to have many. She didn't even have currency that was exchangeable in nineteenth centuary England, she reflected. She glanced down at her hand. Sarah did have a couple of rings that would be worth something at a pawn brokers. She estimated that she could get enough for some appropriate clothes and to feed herself in the meantime, but not for long. She knew that she would have to find work somewhere in order to pay for lodgings for any longer than a week or two.

Sarah racked her brains for something that she could do to earn some money until she figured out how to get home. Slowly a plan began to form in her mind as she sipped her tea. Sarah was so absorbed that she lost track of the conversation between Watson and Holmes. She was brought back to earth when Holmes came right up to her and poked at her hair.

"Will you stop doing that!" Sarah objected, as Holmes examined her hair with his long, white, nervous fingers.

"It's not a wig, Watson. Her hair really is that short. No woman would cut off her hair without a very good reason. Have you been sick?" he inquired.

"No, I'm perfectly healthy. Last thing I knew, I was out in the fresh air walking by a lake," Sarah replied with asperity.

"How strange, I've never seen a woman with hair cut that short unless she had been sick," Holmes asked, still frowning. "Why did you cut off your hair?" Holmes asked her.

"Because I prefer it short. It's easier to look after. Lots of women have short hair where I come from," Sarah objected.

"Do you know anything about women cutting their hair short because it's easier to look after, Watson?" Holmes asked.

"No, not at all. Perhaps it's more sensible, when you think about it," Watson offered placidly.

"I can't imagine any woman allowing practicality to overtake vanity, Watson," Holmes observed, somewhat disparagingly. This aggravated Sarah.

"Will you get off my hair?" she protested, deeply annoyed.

Holmes looked mildly surprised at Sarah's reproof but carried on staring her like an exhibit in a museum. He fingered the loose material of the sleeve of her t-shirt and looked with great interest at her wristwatch.

"That's not a weave you find in London nor a dye of that colour," Holmes remarked, his frown growing deeper. "Here is a mystery indeed!" he picked up Sarah's backpack and inspected it minutely.

"I've never seen anything like it! Not the material, not the design, not the composition. It's remarkable Watson!" he exclaimed. "May I look inside?" he asked her politely.

Sarah shrugged. There was nothing in there to hide, she figured. Holmes took her shrug as permission and eagerly pulled out every item. He scrutinised Sarah's purse and all the plastic cards and modern money in it. Her glasses and sunglasses he seemed only mildly interested in. "Very light, Watson. Look," he said, handing them to him. Sarah's keys he had no interest in except to comment on the number. He inspected her iPhone and iPod with the greatest interest. It was clear he wasn't sure what they were.

He spent some time studying each item and while he did so, Sarah observed him again. It was strange to be in the same room with such a famous figure, particularly when you thought they were not real, she pondered. He was not a handsome man, not by Victorian or modern standards. His face was too pale, bony and angular, his hawkish nose too large, his eyes too deep set and his lips too thin. There was some resemblance to the Paget drawings in the Strand magazine, but it was obvious that Paget had made him rather more handsome to appeal to the readership. He was certainly as tall and thin as the stories described and his hands were oddly arresting, being long-fingered and slender – quite beautiful, in fact. Sarah found her eyes being drawn to them repeatedly. They were more the hands of a musician than someone who dealt regularly with criminals. When he was interested in something, his movements were quick and purposeful, and his eyes narrowed in concentration. His accent and cut-glass diction was definitely that of the upper class. Every-time he spoke, it was obvious that Holmes had been brought up a gentleman. Sarah thought he was attractive, despite his lack of classically handsome or regular features. His face was ascetic, masculine and aristocratic. His height and slenderness gave him an elegance that Sarah could never aspire to from her five foot, three inch disadvantage. With his impeccable grooming and Victorian gentleman's attire, Sarah thought he was quite striking.

After Holmes had finished going through Sarah's things, he replaced them in her bag and sat looking thoughtful for a long time.

"I know there is something important you're not telling us. The question is, why are you not telling us?" Holmes said finally, studying Sarah with an impartial and speculative gaze.

"Because if I told you, you would not believe me," she replied truthfully.

"Why don't you try us?" Holmes invited suavely.

"Why don't I show you?" Sarah countered. She dug around in her backpack and pulled out her iPod. She turned it on to see if the battery was still working and it was playing. To her amazement, it worked perfectly. "Do you know what this is?" she asked Holmes, knowing full well he didn't.

"No, I've never seen one before," he replied smoothly. His keen eyes had been watching Sarah carefully as she turned it on and tested it, trying to figure out the mystery.

"It's called an iPod. I know that will mean nothing to you. It has recorded music stored in it. There is enough music in this iPod so that if you listened to every piece in full, one after the other, it would take you three days to hear it all. Unfortunately, the battery only lasts twenty-four hours, so you would need to re-charge it inbetween," Sarah explained as succinctly as she could.

Holmes and Watson stared at it in amazement.

"You can't fit a battery that lasts twenty-four hours in that," Watson sputtered.

"How would you fit that much recorded music in something that small?" Holmes muttered aloud, frowning deeply.

"Do you want to hear?" Sarah asked, holding out the earphones.

They were both at Sarah's side instantly. She showed them how to put the earphone in their ear - one for each of them. Then she chose a Chopin nocturne and hit play. It was extraordinary to see their faces transform, Sarah thought. They both looked amazed at first. Holmes, the music lover, soon got lost in the piece, his face closed and his gazed turned inward. As soon as it was over, Sarah showed them the playlist so they could see how much was on the iPod.

"The recording is extraordinary quality," Holmes said distractedly, his mind obviously racing, "Play something else," he commanded.

"Bach?" Sarah suggested, with a smile to herself. She chose Toccata and Fugue.

It was interesting to see how music completely transformed Holmes. His deep set eyes half closed, the tension in his face drained away and one had impression he was no longer in the room at all. He looked, Sarah thought, like a different man to the keen eyed, sharp featured bloodhood of only minutes before. As Sarah waited for the piece to end, she wondered why he hadn't become a musician. According to Watson's accounts, he was pretty good on the violin.

"Extraordinary," Holmes murmured again, as the piece ended. He and Watson politely gave back the headphones.

"You can't get anything like that in Victorian England," Sarah said to them. She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing, but she had to confide in someone. If they thought she was mad, what did she care? Sarah never had to see either of them again. However, if they believed her, they might be able to help her. So she continued, "And I didn't get it here. I got it where I came from, the year two thousand and ten."

Sarah waited for them to absorb this extraordinary and somewhat ridiculous statement.

Holmes caught on first, unsurprisingly.

"Are you telling us that you come from the future? That you have somehow traveled back in time?" Holmes asked, typically not bothering to hide his disbelief.

"I was born in 1989 and yesterday, for me, it was the year two thousand and ten. I don't know how I got to Victorian England. Whatever caused it to happen, it wasn't anything I did. Unless you and Dr Watson and everything out there," Sarah said, gesturing to the street, "is an elaborate hoax, it appears I have traveled back in time. I don't know why," she said.

Suddenly, it all seemed absurd to Sarah. It was impossible that they could believe her. She barely believed it herself. She knew she was asking too much of them, expecting to be believed. She felt very alone and depressed all of a sudden and wanted to leave. She didn't want to deal with their suspicion and distrust as well as the horrible sense of displacement and confusion she already felt.

Holmes was frowning, deep in thought, not looking at Sarah as he processed information. Dr Watson was watching her, but not unkindly. Sarah got the impression he was unable to make head or tail of any of it.

Sarah put her iPod back in her backpack and picked it up.

"I'm sorry, I've taken up enough of your time. I've got matters to arrange for myself," she said far more firmly than she felt.

Holmes shook himself out of his brown study.

"Well, you've brought me a worthy mystery this time Watson," was his conclusion. "I need to think on this one. I may need a few days. In the meantime, I would like to meet this Duke from Kent. Can we go tomorrow?"

"Of course," Watson agreed readily.

Sarah stared at them both. She had no idea whether they believed what she had said or not. She stood up and was surprised when both gentlemen bobbed up out of their chairs too. _I'm really not in the twenty-first centuary any more_ , she thought to herself and hid a smile.

"Well, thank you again for your time gentlemen. As I said, I will need to make some arrangements for myself in the meantime," Sarah said, turning to go.

Dr Watson looked startled. "But where will you go? Do you know anyone in London?" he asked kindly.

"No, but I can take care of myself," she replied with a smile. Dr Watson really was a lovely man, she thought.

"I think my old landlady would like to meet you. She may be able to help you in some small ways," he offered thoughtfully.

Sarah frowned. She hated to impose but there was at least one way she could help her. "If she won't think it an imposition, I'd really like to wash myself up a bit," Sarah said ruefully, pointing to the mud on her socks.

"Of course! Come back to my old lodgings with me. My old landlady won't mind a bit," he said heartily, looking relieved.

"Early tomorrow morning, Watson!" Holmes called after them as Dr Watson ushered Sarah out.

"I'll be back tonight, Holmes," Watson called back.

 _AN – You will note that Sarah comes from 2010. This is to allow her to carry technology that is slightly older (iPod). Internet based technology like iPhones would not work in 1882 and young people don't use iPods in 2018._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _Yet God was with him, and rescued him from all his afflictions, and granted him favor_

Act 7:9-10

Mrs Laidley turned out to be an absolute darling. She was so sympathetic and immediately heated up some water for Sarah to bath. She also offered Sarah one of her best dresses to change into but Sarah spotted an older dress in her wardrobe which she knew would suit her purposes better. It had a fuller skirt than the one Mrs Laidley had offered her which was important to my plans.

"My dear, I was about to give that old dress away to the poor. Won't you take a more fashionable one?" Mrs Laidley pleaded sweetly.

"You're as kind as Dr Watson but I have a reason for asking for that particular style dress. If you don't object, it would help me a great deal to borrow it for a short time," Sarah asked.

"You may have it, my dear. There is no need to return it," Mrs Laidley said with a warm smile. "And you must borrow any other dresses you need and ask for anything else you require. You've had a great shock and mustn't worry yourself."

Sarah smiled at her. Mrs Laidley was a darling and a gentlewoman of the kind she'd never met before.

Sarah looked out of the window at the afternoon sky. "I have some errands I will need to run this afternoon. Can you please point me in the direction of Marble Arch?" she asked.

Mrs Laidley looked puzzled but with great discretion and lady-like manners did not ask any questions. After Sarah had put on the dress which fitted better than she had hoped, Mrs Laidley gave Sarah a pair of her neat white boots to wear. They were a size too large (Sarah's feet and hands had always been smaller than average) but would do until she could buy a pair that afternoon.

At the front door, Mrs Laidley pointed. "Turn left and go to the end of the block. Then turn right and walk another two blocks and you'll be at Marble Arch", she instructed. Sarah couldn't believe how close she was to the theatre district but she had known from the stories that Holmes and Watson did not live far from it. It was much to Sarah's advantage now.

Sarah waved good-bye with smiles and thanks. "Will you be back?" Mrs Laidley asked a trifle anxiously. "I'd feel so much better if you would stay the night."

"Thank you," Sarah replied. "I may not be back for dinner but I hope I won't be too late. I'm not really sure how long my errands will take."

"Take care," Mrs Laidley said apprehensively and stayed at the door until Sarah reached the end of the block, watching her with worried eyes. Sarah could feel her gaze all the way down the street.

As soon as Sarah was out of sight, she scanned every store she passed. There were several pawn brokers and Sarah went inside to check the prices of jewelry on display. She did not want to get cheated for the few pieces she had.

Finally Sarah found a reputable looking store close to Hyde Park that was clean and well-presented. The jewelry she was wearing she had bought for herself so there was no sentimental value to them to make it wrenching for her. Sarah knew that when she got back to the twenty-first centuary, she could replace them. _If_ she ever got back, she thought with a sigh.

The man who served her seemed honest enough and when he realized that she knew roughly the value of what she had, he did not try to cheat her. He was well dressed and well spoken with graying hair and a ramrod posture. He probably could have passed for a gentleman if he hadn't been serving in a pawn broker.

"The cut of these stones is very unusual," he remarked. "And the finish is perfect. They must have been made by a master gemologist," he remarked.

" _Or a machine,"_ Sarah thought but gave nothing away with her expression.

"I can give you a better than usual price for these. I could sell them very quickly. Did you want me to hold onto them in case you want to claim them back?" he asked politely.

"No," Sarah replied. "When I go home, I'll be able to replace them," she explained.

He asked Sarah where she had obtained them and when she said, 'Kent, but the gold is Australian gold' his curiosity seemed satisfied. "Very good gold in Australia. More yellow than South African gold but still attractive. We'll get a good price for these," he observed.

In the end, Sarah got more than she had hoped for her jewelry which was a stroke of luck. She could afford to buy herself the odds and ends she needed, and pay for a room for a few weeks. Sarah breathed much easier with the pile of pound notes in her skirt pocket.

The next store she went into was a shoe store. Sarah bought herself a serviceable pair of black button boots in the right size and a soft pair of leather slippers that were very close to the 'flatties' she wore to ballet class at home.

By now it was twilight and the theatre district was still quiet. There were several small theatres but Sarah had to find the right one. It took less than fifteen minutes to find what she was looking for. Her luck was holding. The English Ballet was performing that very night at West End. They were not technically very advanced (the entire corps de ballet dancing on pointe was very cutting edge in these times) but that would work to Sarah's advantage, she speculated.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah hurried up the broad steps and into the theatre.

It was a shock to Sarah to see how different it looked to modern theatres. There were the marble floors in the foyer and the gilt edged velvet furnishings out front but once inside, it looked very small. There was only room for a couple of hundred guests and the seats were on very sloped floors. The stage looked tiny to her and very primitive with bare wooden floors and footlights that seemed far too close to the action. In fact, the whole theatre seemed claustrophobic. To Sarah, it felt like you could reach out and touch the performers from anywhere in the theatre, the audience was so close compared to modern theatres.

Sarah didn't have much time to take this in as there was a rehearsal going on at the time. Bored corps de ballet girls where standing in frank poses while waiting for the musicians to find their place in the music. Sarah was accosted by a stage manager almost immediately.

"Are you one of the ballet girls? Why are you so late for rehearsal? It began half an hour ago! Change into your shoes and get on stage," he fired at her rapidly then stalked off.

Sarah debated what to do but decided that this may be the best strategy in the end. She did as she was bid, put her boots under a front row seat and climbed the three short steps off to one side of the stage.

"Who are you?" one of the girls asked in a thick Russian accent as she crept to the back of the stage.

"I'm new," Sarah replied shortly.

"What happened to your hair?" another girl asked. Her accent was French.

"Long story," Sarah said nervously, keeping one eye on the bearded man in the front row who was obviously either the choreographer or the Artistic Director or most likely, both.

Sarah noticed with relief that all the girls had soft shoes on. If she managed to wheedle her way into the ballet company, she would send to Italy for proper pointe shoes. Sarah knew that at this point in time, the Italians led the way in pointe shoe development. She also knew that in order to make a name for herself, she would need to be a technical match for the Italian virtuosos. Sarah knew she could do it but she needed the right shoes.

When the music began, Sarah simply followed the girl in front of her. She didn't find it hard, as she had expected. The corps de ballet didn't do much technically challenging dancing in the late nineteenth centuary. Their most important function was to look pretty. Sarah knew she would have to grow her hair.

It wasn't too long before the Director noticed a stranger in the ranks. Sarah reasoned that he probably wouldn't have noticed at all if her hair had been long, and she hadn't jumped so high and used her modern extension.

"You in the back row with the short hair, come forward!" he bellowed. Sarah only realised he was talking to her when the girls pushed her upstage. "Who are you?" he demanded in English with a thick Russian accent.

Sarah looked at him with trepidation. This stranger would decide her future and whether she could survive in this strange place.

"My name is Sarah," she replied dutifully.

"Why is your hair short?" he shouted.

"Because I cut it," Sarah replied innocently.

"Why did you cut it?" he asked, with a dangerous tone in his voice.

"It's easier to look after," she shrugged.

"You will grow it," he stated flatly. "Why have I never seen you before?" he said with a frown.

"I don't belong to the company," Sarah admitted.

The Director's frown grew very dark. "What do you mean? Why are you here if you don't belong to the company?"

"I came to audition," she said meekly.

The Director thought about this and rubbed his bearded chin. "Where were you trained?" he asked gruffly.

"Kent," Sarah said.

"Kent! Kent does not have an advanced ballet school! Tell me the truth, where did you learn?" he yelled.

"I learned from a Russian lady in Kent," she said as it was true, after all.

"What is her name?" he ordered. Sarah told him.

"I've never heard of her," the Director shrugged. He looked her up and down, and didn't speak for a long time. "You're good though," he said grudgingly. "Very advanced. More advanced than any of these girls. I could tell straight away. Are you sure you haven't been trained in Russia, Italy or France?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, Sir," Sarah said honestly.

"Do you know a solo?" he asked without bellowing for once.

"Yes," she replied.

"Clear the stage," he roared at the other girls.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _Do not stir up nor awaken love_

 _Until it pleases_

Song of Songs 1:7

The other girls scampered off-stage looking bewildered and stood in the tiny wings.

"Where are your pointe shoes?" he asked.

"I don't have any," Sarah admitted.

"Carlo, get this young woman some shoes!" he thundered.

Carlo must have been in charge of wardrobe, Sarah figured, because he guessed her size straight away.

Sarah took a deep breath and went to stand in the middle of the stage. She was not warmed up but she knew she could dance a short piece tolerably well without it. Sarah decided to do Kitri's solo from Don Quixote as it was a technically difficult virtuoso piece. She wanted to show the Director what she could do from the outset and to secure the best place she could.

The Director recognised parts of it, but the choreography had changed with the advances in ballet technique.

"Dance a romantic piece now!" the Director bawled from the front row.

Sarah decided on a solo from Act 2 of Giselle. It didn't get more romantic than that, she thought.

He was silent a long time after Sarah finished and sat in the front row with his chin sunk upon his chest. Sarah could hear the girls whispering excitedly in the wings. "It's a pity about your hair," was all he said finally. "Come down here and talk to me. The rest of you, get back on stage and keep rehearsing," he ordered.

"I have no idea where you learned to dance like that. However, we need another principal dancer. One of our principals ran off with some French army colonel last week," he explained with great disgust. "She was not dedicated to her art although a good enough dancer," he muttered.

"Your hair is a problem but we can hide that," he continued, staring at her bob with great disfavour. "I can't put you in the corps de ballet, your dancing would stick out too much. If I offer you a place as a principal, it will be demanding. I need you here from 9am every day to learn Clara's old parts for the first few months. What do you think?" he asked bluntly.

"I would love to dance in your company. I'm very honoured to be asked to take on principal roles," Sarah said calmly, trying not to squeal with joy.

"Good! I will need to pay you well otherwise another company will want you, I can see. I will offer you £100 per year to begin with. If you prove successful at drawing audiences, and that is certain, it can go up very rapidly," he said nonchalantly.

Sarah knew from reading Victorian novels that governesses earned roughly £40 per year, so it was a good offer. It was not a fortune, however and she knew she would need to be careful with her money. She would need to speak to someone about appropriate lodgings close to the theatre district but that was a problem for tomorrow.

"Be here tomorrow at 9am for class. We will organise shoes and costumes for you but your practice outfit is your own responsibility. What you are wearing is fine," he said, glancing over the white, full skirted dress Mrs Laidley had so kindly given her.

Sarah nodded. "Thank you for the opportunity," she said, getting up.

He bobbed up to standing position rapidly, in that startling way men did in these times. "I have great expectations for you Miss Sarah," he said gravely. "I can see from your technique that you take your art seriously. I sincerely hope that you do not run off with an army colonel, French or otherwise."

Sarah could feel an involuntary smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I think that is highly unlikely," she replied gravely and thought, _they would hate my hair anyway._

As rehearsals packed up, Sarah had one last thing she wanted to do before she left the theatre. Ducking backstage, she looked for the steep spiral staircase that would take her to the top of building. There was usually a door to the roof. She wanted to see if the whole of London looked different from above.

It was not yet twilight, so Sarah could see Victorian London spread around her. It was a deep shock. She felt dizzy and quite sick. Gone were the tall skyscrapers she had expected to see, glinting sunlight off their glass and steel structures. All the buildings were low and made of stone or brick. It seemed very dark. Everything looked dirty and fog was creeping in from the Thames. The gaslight had not been turned on yet, but Sarah knew the buildings would not be lit up from within and pouring out light into the night the way they were in the twenty-first centuary. _No wonder crime had been so easy in these times_ , Sarah thought with a shudder.

From where Sarah stood, it looked exactly like the scene from Mary Poppins with all the chimney sweeps dancing on the rooftops. Myriad chimneys poured smoke into the already dirty air for miles around. Even the air smelled different to the twenty-first centuary. It was denser, oilier, dirtier. There were smells that Sarah couldn't hope to identify.

Without her being aware of it, tears slowly leaked down her face. "It's gone", she thought and then realised she had said it aloud, "Everything is gone". Everything familiar, everything she knew – like it had never existed. Of course, in the nineteenth centuary, everything she had ever known _had_ never existed.

She felt cold and realised she was shivering but she wasn't sure whether it was from shock or the weather.

"Ere miss, you need to come inside. The roof ain't safe," a gruff voice said.

Sarah turned around and saw one of the older stage hands had followed her up to the roof.

"Now, what's wrong? Did you say something had gone? What's gone, then?" he asked kindly.

Sarah turned back and looked over the strange, dirty, dark landscape. "Everything; everything is gone," she said, her delicate features contorted in a frown.

"Well, I don't know what you mean but there is no need to take on so, no need for tears. You're all right, ain't ye? I saw you audition. You have a bright future ahead of you, young lady. A very bright future indeed. I've seen a lot of dancers over the years, so I know what I'm talking about. So, no need for tears then, with all that to look forward to," he said with gruff kindness, gesturing with one thin, wizened hand for Sarah to follow him back down to the theatre.

Sarah knew he was right, but the shock had been profound. Her world had vanished, but how did she explain that to him?

"You're very kind," she said and patted the old man gently on one arm. With a sigh, she followed him down the stairs and he slipped into the shadows once they were both inside the theatre.

It was less than twenty minutes later that Sarah was back at Mrs Laidley's house in Paddington. Baker Street, Dr Watson's house and the theatre were all within walking distance of each other. If Sarah found lodgings close to the theatre, she would still be within walking distance of both Holmes and Watson. She wondered how long Holmes would be on the scent of the mystery of how she came to be in London. He would never believe the truth anyway, Sarah knew.

Sarah didn't tell Mrs Laidley what she had done. She simply showed her the new black boots and returned her pair with many thanks. Sarah had brought flowers from a street vendor on her way back as a small return for all she had done. Mrs Laidley did not ask questions although Sarah could see she was curious. Sarah had also bought dinner from another street vendor on her way back so as not to put Mrs Laidley to any further trouble.

The minute Watson and Sarah had left Holmes quickly pulled on his old man disguise and took himself over to wait in the same street as Mrs Laidley lived to wait for developments.

As he waited outside Mrs Laidley's house, he pondered his interview with Sarah. His first impression had been that she looked like a bedraggled scarecrow. Although dressed more like a street boy than a woman, he had instantly seen from the delicate bone structure and feminine hands that the odd personage before him was female. A second glance told him that despite the truly hideous haircut, she was also quite extraordinarily pretty. Holmes loved beautiful things and his discerning eye could see that with the right clothes and longer hair, she would be a rare beauty.

He had noticed her examining him closely several times during their discussion at Baker Street. It had unnerved him somewhat. He was used to being the one who did the observing, not the one being observed. Not only was it highly unusual for a beautiful (if bedraggled) woman to stare intently and with interest at him, it was unprecedented. Her gaze did not have the keen edge of the self-interested, however. It lacked speculation or judgment. Holmes struggled to define it and then it dawned on him - there had been something of compassion or concern, as well as curiousity. This made Holmes deeply uncomfortable. He was not used to human sympathy. It had not been a feature of his life. He struggled even to accept Watson's simple and straightforward friendship at times, let alone anything else. Where had this strange concern come from and why had she felt he needed or deserved it, Holmes speculated? He was not the type of person who attracted care or concern. He was too solitary and self-involved, too self-possessed and, some would say, too arrogant.

He shook his head, it was of no matter. He did not think he had imagined it. He was not given to imagining things. However, it did not bear on his investigation and he did not want to be distracted.

He spent the entire afternoon following Sarah from Mrs Laidley's premises to the pawnbrokers and then to the theatre district where he then had to hastily adjust his disguise to that of a stage technician in order to watch Sarah's strange audition.

She had flowered into the beauty that Holmes had predicted in the pretty white dress Mrs Laidley had given her, he acknowledged. There was an irresistible femininity in the delicate curves of her profile, her cheek, throat and shoulders. Her fine features were symmetrical and her face was a perfect oval, giving her the look of an angel in a painting by a master. When her slender arms framed her face as she danced, it became art.

Holmes had been to the ballet rarely. He preferred to go to the symphony or other musical performances where there was no distracting action on stage. The acting was bad enough in opera although often the singing was worth attending for. However, the ballet was unbearable. He had only gone if there was a particular conductor and a particular score he wanted to hear. Then he sat with his eyes shut the entire time.

When Sarah was called to the front to audition to do a solo, he watched with some interest. After all, she had stood out like a sore thumb in the corps de ballet, so he was interested to see what else she could do.

Once the piano started, Holmes watched with growing amazement. The difference between her and the other dancers was inexplicable. It wasn't just a matter of having more talent, it was a quantum leap forward in the whole art of dance. She could jump so much higher, travel so much further, her footwork was so much more complex and brilliant, she could balance on her toes for much longer, she could do multiple turns and do steps that clearly had never been performed before. It simply added to the mystery of where she came from. How did such a protégée emerge from nowhere?

The director asked her to do another piece and Holmes could see it was another style entirely. The flashy brilliance of the former technique was entirely gone. In its place was dreamy, light, graceful movement. She seemed to drift weightlessly over the stage and float into the air like a ghost, landing soundlessly. Her limbs made beautiful lines and shapes in space that Holmes wanted to look at far longer than they appeared. The stage lighting, dimmer than for a performance, shimmered and reflected off the old white dress. Momentarily, she became transformed into something unearthly, until Holmes blinked and the flesh and blood girl was back again.

Holmes didn't realise it until the music stopped, but he had been holding his breath. He wanted Sarah to keep dancing. When she stopped, it was like a spell being broken. Like someone waking from a trance, he picked up a paintbrush and pretended to be working on scenery but his hands were trembling finely. He was so disoriented for a few minutes that he forgot to watch what happened next. Finally, he shook himself and made himself edge closer to the front of the wings to overhear the conversation between Sarah and the Director.

Just when he thought it was safe to slip away, he saw Sarah disappear backstage. Curious, he followed her and saw her dart up a narrow staircase to the roof door. Quietly he followed. Fortunately, she had her back to him when reached the roof and he was able to observe. She stood and stared around her for a long time and had muttered something about everything being gone. He decided to risk speaking to her and had been shaken by her white face and the tear tracks. She was obviously in shock. His keen gaze noted that she was shaking slightly as well.

He hadn't been able to find out what the "everything" was she was referring to. He hadn't wanted to agitate her further. Of course, it could refer to the landscape itself. If she came from the future as she claimed then much would be missing, it would look very different. She was not staging the incident, she did not know the old stage hand was really Holmes and she had not expected to be followed. Possibly she was talking about something else altogether, but he doubted it. She had patted him as she went past and he could still feel her small hand on his arm like a brand. He couldn't remember the last time anyone touched him except to punch him in a round of boxing.

By the time he had seen Sarah settle in for the night with Mrs Laidley, he had more than enough data for a three pipe contemplation, if not longer. He did not want company and avoided Watson by retiring early to his bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he smoked like a chimney as he contemplated the day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _Behold, He tears down, and it cannot be built again;_

 _He shuts a man in, and none can open._

Job 12:14

He still felt unsettled from his reaction to Sarah's audition that afternoon. Of course, he knew perfectly well what his malaise was. He had always been susceptible to beauty. It pierced him through like an arrow. This aspect of his personality had been with him since birth. Added to this was a deeply sensual nature which had first made itself felt in adolescence.

He realised that he desired Sarah, of course. As a man past youth although not yet middle-aged, he was not self-conscious or discomfited by this. He had desired women before and knew that it was meaningless in its own right. Holmes had always viewed sexual desire as nature's way of ensuring the continuation of the species – perfectly natural, if somewhat of an annoyance and distraction. However, his reaction to Sarah did disturb him as there was something else mixed into ordinary desire as well. It was an unexpected yearning that touched more than biology; it reached into the centre of his being and reawakened dormant longings, lost beauties, faded dreams and almost-forgotten grief. Parts of himself that he had forgotten were being roused like giants waking from a long enchantment.

He had carefully guarded his heart for years and with good reason. His family's sudden reverses of fortune had forced him to leave his studies early and earn his own way in the world. The end result had been that he had had to abandon the idea of marriage before he had even been of an age to realistically contemplate it. It was impossible. He had nothing and didn't know if his unique skills would bring him a living. He had simply never thought of marrying, what would be the point?

His family was a profound embarrassment to him. He could never have brought a woman he respected and loved into their circle. It was not just the erosion of the family's fortunes, it was also the highly dysfunctional relationships within. How would he explain it to anyone from a normal background?

Finally, there was the matter of his own self-contained nature. He needed privacy, space and solitude. Not something likely to be found in the close confines of a marriage. Over the years, despite efforts to quiet the memories with cocaine and work, he had come to understand the forces and circumstances that had shaped his temperament.

 _ **The History of Holmes**_

His mother had a depressive personality, cold and distant. She could be quite a hard woman if disturbed by her sons' demands. She had neither the will nor interest to mother either of them, worn down by her depression which was aggravated by her husband's abusive personality. There was a succession of nannies, but they never stayed long. Their mother was not an easy mistress to work for, being both critical and contrary. By the time the boys went to boarding school, she was spending most of her time in Paris with her own mother.

His father was worse, a great bully of a man with a vicious and malicious temper. He was sly, conniving and cruel, and enjoyed watching his small family for signs of weaknesses to exploit. His abuses were manifold sometimes resulting in violence, but his favourite weapons were criticism, rejection, control and the double bind. He spent all of Sherlock's childhood and youth carefully and deliberately undermining and deconstructing his self-worth until the foundations of his identity were was fragile as a termite infested house. Mycroft had also suffered considerably, but being his father's favourite and the older son and heir, he had escaped the worst of his father's poison.

Sherlock had been a brilliant child, but his father despised his brains as they undoubtedly came from his mother's side of the family. His father had passionately hated everything about his mother's family as they had always tended to rather look down on him as an inferior match for their aristocratic daughter. As Sherlock took after his mother's family, it made him a target for his father's loathing. His father was a coward at heart and would never have taken her family on directly. It was easier to take his anger out on his younger son.

So, his precocious brilliance had been actively discouraged and his father, a large strapping man like Mycroft, had also sneered at his younger son's lanky frame which had taken years to fill out. To add to his father's scorn, he had suffered an illness when he had been very little which had delayed his growth. His father had sneered at his sickly younger son and considered him useless. Although he had recovered and gone on to prove his skill in a number of fighting sports from his teen-age years, his father still derided and humiliated him.

Even at a young age, he had understood something was wrong with his parent's behaviour but any attempt to defend himself was met with freezing scorn or outright fury. Holmes' parents were narcissists and refused to accept any view of themselves as less than perfect. They could not and would not take responsibility for their bad behaviour. They refused to see it. Any effort to point out unfairness or harsh behaviour was turned on the young boy himself. "You're imagining things", "You're too sensitive", "You're being ridiculous" were the favourite responses, accompanied by derision. His reality was slowly eroded over many years as was his trust in his own emotional perceptions and responses. Even his personal truth did not belong to him but was constantly manipulated by both parents.

Due to his home situation, he was already the walking wounded by the time he went away to boarding school. The children could smell blood in the water and, as a small boy, he was bullied. When he was older, he learned to defend himself. It was the reason he took up boxing in the first place.

His brilliance also separated him from his peers at school. He found the work too easy and got bored. He didn't understand his much slower classmates and didn't share their interests as his were already so much more advanced than theirs'. They thought he was a show-off and peculiar.

The dual rejection of parents and early peers forced him to become very self-sufficient and not look to others for support or help. By the time he was a teenager, he had learned the basic social skills that allowed him to move easily in most social settings and get along, at least superficially, with his peers. He never sought out friends, however. Sometimes they came to him through circumstance for a short period, but Watson was the only long-term and truly intimate friend of his life.

His university days had provided opportunities to meet plenty of pretty, eligible young women. His problem had been that he had not been a handsome, eligible young man. That he had not as yet grown into what few looks he had was not so much of an issue as that his family was no longer wealthy and it was starting to become known. Young women were looking for husbands who could support them, not young men with rapidly disappearing family estates. Added to these disadvantages was the lack of exposure to women during his early life. With his mother residing in Paris for most of their lives, there being no female cousins to play with and his education being in all boys schools, women were not "the darker continent"; they were a completely unknown continent.

Like all young men, he had experimented with sex in his youth although he started later than most; he was already at university. He had no illusions that any desirable woman would want him for himself. The notion that he himself could be loveable was so foreign to his early life experiences that it never entered his head. He did not seek love.

In the rare moments when he thought about it at all, Holmes admitted to himself that he was afraid of love. He had learned early in life that love extracted a heavy price. His parents had expected perfection from him in return for the smallest unbending or sign of approval. He had to turn himself inside out to please them and had always failed. He could not change this thin frame into the hulking bulk of his father. He could not change his features or colouring so they did not resemble his mother's family. He could not help being smarter than everyone he met. Yet he was rejected and punished for these things. Eventually he had accepted that his parents simply would not be pleased.

However, like every other child, Holmes had needed his parents. He could not allow himself the thought that his parents did not love him. It was too earth-shattering for such a small boy. For him, the price of having his parents in his life was to give up his natural emotions, his innate reactions, his need to defend himself from their harshness. He had always known something was deeply wrong. Mostly, encouraged by both his parents, he assumed it was himself. As a boy, he had to accept that he was always wrong, so that they could always be right. That was their price. Like vampires, they had sucked away the very life-force of who he was as the price for tolerating him. Growing up, he could not imagine any other life.

Without realising it, at a purely subconscious level, he rejected any notion of love as he grew into manhood. Love had become a monster, an insatiable being who wanted to devour and destroy, as his parents had wanted to devour and destroy his very essence as a boy. He felt compelled to run from it even though he knew deep down that love and the monster were two entirely separate things. The trouble was, he simply didn't know what love was. How did he recognise it when it came? How did he prevent himself being deceived? He had no natural defences. How did he respond? He had no blueprint within himself for a loving relationship. It was a foreign land – unchartered territory. Most important of all, how did he know whether it was love or the monster when the monster sometimes wore a mask and called itself love?

As such, his sexual experimentation had begun and ended with no expectation or aim of experiencing or finding love. He had stopped within a fairly short space of time. Having no notion of love, he had not expected the intimacy and everything in him instinctively shrunk from it. Nor had he anticipated how depressed and disgusted it made him feel to use the young women when he felt nothing for them and to be used and manipulated by them in turn. It didn't take long for Holmes to be unable to face himself in the mirror any longer.

Holmes realised something very important about himself by the end of university. He simply had too many strikes against him in this game. He was now poor, due to his childhood illness he could not have children and he desperately needed solitude, privacy and space. He could not deal with the emotional demands of an intimate relationship. There was something that had become essentially cold at his core.

Having an intensely moral nature, Holmes decided he would have to be self-sufficient and remain single. It was not an unusual choice for a man in his situation to remain a bachelor and his older brother Mycroft had already made the same choice.

Holmes had been able to train his mind not to dwell on either feelings of loneliness or the cravings of his own sensual nature. Unlike Mycroft who had re-directed them into a love of the table, Holmes had stifled them under hard work, drugs and strict asceticism.

Like a monk, he practiced strict custody of the eyes and would not let his gaze dwell too long on a pretty face or figure. He stringently avoided touching women.

These habits, along with the distrust that had sprung from his early experiences, had made his friends label him as a man who disliked women but this was not strictly true. He was merely trying to protect himself and the women he met from an ill-advised liaison that could go no-where. It was true, there were times he was sarcastic and cynical about women. His early experiences had left their scars. However, he was not a misogynist. He did not hate the entire gender.

He knew better than anyone why he abused tobacco and cocaine. Tobacco gave one permission to sit still and do nothing for a while. For a desperately restless person, it was a boon. Of course, the addictive qualities took over eventually. As for cocaine, who could describe adequately the benefit of not having to think for a few hours, to get out of one's own head? Who could describe the wonder of not having to feel, for a few hours, the creeping sense of despair, blankness and pointlessness that pursued one in normal life?

Holmes looked at the world as if through a thick sheet of glass. It could not get to him and he could not get to it. He did not really live in the world. He observed it, he moved within it, but he didn't really exist there. He always felt removed. He saw others fully involved in the present and in each other but could not comprehend it. He could not invest himself in life. He engaged only enough to make his living and obtain whatever leisure and luxury he could buy, whatever temporary escape from the confusing bustle of relationships and demands around him. He did not really believe in his own future and did not make plans for it as other men did. It was a blank to him.

As a young man close to the end of his degree, he had received news that his father had made a series of bad investments and lost the family property at Yorkshire. Mycroft was to take up a government position in town and he was also going to have to find a way of being self-supporting. It was fortunate, in many ways, that his mother had passed away a few years before from pneumonia.

Holmes had already used his unique set of skills to solve some little problems for a few acquaintances at university. These were already being discussed in the right circles. It was only a matter of time before more came his way. He had discussed with Stamford getting some reasonably priced rooms in town that he could share. Not long after, Stamford came up trumps and introduced him to Watson. Then, less than a year later, Watson had introduced Sarah, one of his new unsolved conundrums.

Holmes thin lips twisted and he refilled his pipe for the third time that evening. He knew that Sarah had a glittering future before her. Her pay, even for a principal dancer, was extraordinary. That Director was making a shrewd investment. Once her hair had grown and once she was on stage regularly, she would have an army of admirers. Like so many before her, she would be able to take her pick. His heart sank at the thought.

There was no use getting depressed about Sarah's prospects, he told himself sternly. A beautiful woman like Sarah, who would be famous very soon, would never look at him, that was for sure, he told himself savagely. However, it didn't stop his heart aching strangely when he recalled the small, graceful, white figure gliding across the stage like an apparition from his boyhood dreams.

He glanced at himself in the dressing mirror over the fireplace. He had never been good-looking. His parents had certainly made their opinions on his lack of attractions clear, reinforced by his peers and finally by the female gender in general. His nose was too large and too narrow, his eyes too deep set, his face too bony and angular, his lips too thin. His frame was wiry and strong, but did not have an ounce of spare flesh on it. His limbs were boney and sinewy with prominent veins under his pale, almost hairless, skin. His frame was narrow, apart from his shoulders, which only emphasised his unusual height. He had nothing to offer her and that was the stark truth.

With an impatient noise, he picked up his hypodermic needle filled with morphine. With unnecessary savagery, he jammed the needle into a vein.

He was irritated with himself. He was not going to make a fool of himself. He already felt a fool for losing his head in the wings that afternoon. For the first time since he was a boy, he had not shielded himself and he knew he would pay for it. He knew very well that not even ordinary women ever looked at him, let alone beautiful and extraordinarily talented ones.

Holmes last thought the drug dragged him into sleep was, _but she_ was _looking at me…_ The thought was so startling that he nearly woke up again, but the drug was too powerful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _Even the sparrow has found a home_

 _And the swallow a nest for herself_

Psalm 84:3

In the morning, with a clearer head and a determination to be objective, Holmes thought about it again.

The real question was - what was Sarah's game and was she playing one at all? How did she really end up unconscious beside the Duke's lake? Had she really been unconscious or had she been faking? The idea that she had traveled back in time was ludicrous and yet, why did she have so many things with her that Holmes had never seen before and at the same time, appear to have so little in the world at all? With her talent, she could have already been making a fat living for the past few years so why wait until now when she was twenty-one to launch her career? Why cut off her hair like that when she would be gloriously beautiful with it long?

Holmes had learned to be deeply suspicious of women from a young age. He distrusted their motives and their actions confounded him with their irrationality. Despite his feelings about Sarah, he still heartily suspected her of playing some deep game of her own, perhaps hoping to create some romance around herself as she launched her career or maybe even to impose herself on the Duke as she was found on his property. Whatever the game was, it was strange indeed. She did not strike him as mad, quite the opposite. Sarah was a very clever and clear-headed young woman. So why the fantastical story about time travel? And where did she get that extraordinary - what did she call it – iPod?

The day before, he had gone back to the pawnbroker to examine the rings she had pawned and had purchased them once he found out that she had no intention of going back and re-claiming them. He had originally been intending to examine them there, but a quick glance told him that their cut and setting was unique. The gems were too perfect and the settings were unlike any style he had ever seen. A quick study under this microscope told him that no modern set of gem cutters had cut those stones but something far superior. It merely served to reinforce her fantastical story.

Aside from all these suspicions, Sarah still worried him. He had heard her ask Mrs Laidley basic questions about money – how many pence to a shilling and how many shillings to a pound. How was she going to survive in a city like London, full of predators as it was, if she didn't know simple things like that? Although she had shown incredible resourcefulness, there was something troublingly vulnerable about her. Apart from his own investigations, he felt oddly duty bound to keep an eye on her.

All in all, Holmes felt pulled in ten different directions by his own instincts. His desire for Sarah, he did not trust in the least. His suspicion of her motives, he felt far more comfortable with and would pursue with further investigations. His worry about her welfare and feelings of protectiveness made him uncomfortable as they were unfamiliar but if he had any opportunity to assist her then he would. With these unsatisfactory conclusions, he made preparations to visit Kent with Watson.

# # #

Later that night, Sarah looked through the paper she had bought on her way back to see advertisements for lodgings. She saw that there were a few advertisements for places in Soho which was an easy distance to the theatre, judging from the cheap map of London that she had also bought. They were also the right price – in the £8 per year range.

Sarah decided that if she had a break tomorrow, she would have to visit the agents in the Soho area and look over the rooms.

Sarah made a mental list of things she would need as she lay in Mrs Laidley's spare room in a borrowed night dress. She listed paper, pen and ink, and coal for the fireplace. She decided she would need at least one blanket and pillow as well as another practice dress, pointe shoes, hairnets and hair clips. Sarah would also need stage make-up and something warm to sleep in and slippers. Finally, she determined she would need a tin bath and soap and towel. Sarah thought she could probably eat from the street vendors which would save her buying groceries and cooking or paying extra for the landlady to cook food she probably wouldn't like. There was so much to think about that Sarah found it hard to sleep but finally she drifted off to the slow clop-clop of horses' hooves on cobbles.

To her surprise, she had forgotten nothing when she woke up the next morning. She pulled on her practice dress and boots, packed her leather slippers and hugged Mrs Laidley good-bye at 8am. She was offered breakfast but declined and was made to promise to visit before a week was out. Sarah did offer Mrs Laidley one of the pound notes she had made from her jewelry to pay for her stay, but Mrs Laidley refused to take it.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Mrs Laidley asked solicitously.

"I should have by the end of today," Sarah reassured her.

"You'll come back if you don't?" Mrs Laidley asked anxiously.

"I promise!" Sarah said and with another thank you, headed off for West End.

Sarah guessed that Holmes would probably be on her trail. She had no doubt he already knew about her job and would tell Watson on the way to Kent that day.

 _Goodness only knew what conclusions he'd draw from me becoming a disreputable ballet girl_ , Sarah thought with amusement.

Her first day at the theatre went well. The class was not difficult enough for Sarah and she knew she'd have to practice in private in order to keep up her technique. She began learning the principal role in _Le Papillon_. Her dramatic entrance to the company meant the other dancers kept their distance at first but as dancers are gossips, they would come to accept her after the first few weeks.

The Director fussed about Sarah's hair and eventually decided to slick it down with oil and put finger waves in it. It gave the illusion that her hair had been pulled back and put up. He then had a hair piece pinned to the back to complete the illusion.

The company had a break in rehearsals for a couple of hours in the middle of the day. Sarah grabbed a snack from the vendors and headed to Soho. Luckily, the first two-room place she looked at was perfect and only cost 10 shillings. There was minimal furniture but that didn't worry Sarah. There was a single bed and a small wardrobe in one room and a couple of chairs in front of an open fireplace in the other. Best of all, the floors were wooden (perfect for practicing) and it was on the ground floor so she wouldn't disturb anyone beneath her when she jumped or practiced turns.

She paid two weeks rent in advance and said she'd be back later that evening. The landlord was very happy.

Sarah felt much better with a place of her own. She had enough money from the sale of her jewelry to buy everything she needed and have plenty left over but Sarah wanted to be cautious. She wanted to see how the London audiences received her before spending all the money.

Sarah wasn't needed after rehearsals finished at around 7pm. The ballet began at 8pm and the dancers had an hour off to relax and rest before the show. Sarah wanted to stay and watch the performance but she needed to get back to her new rooms, settle in and also get some proper training in.

She finished practicing at around 9pm and carefully washed herself with the face cloth, soap and towel she had bought in her break on the way back to the theatre. The landlady had provided a large basin and jug of water. There was an iron contraption that allowed Sarah to heat water over the fire and she boiled this kettle while she was finishing practice for hot water. The landlord had provided a half load of coal for 1 shilling.

Sarah had also bought two thick blankets and a pillow, and a night dress and slippers. Sarah found that lugging all this back to Soho at the end of the day was no joke. In the end, she caught a cab. She found it surprisingly cheap but not something she could do every day.

Sarah wrapped herself in blankets and slept soundly until it was time to get up for class.

For the rest of the week, Sarah followed this routine. The Director decided that she would not debut until a full month was up to give her the opportunity to learn La Papillon. In that time, Sarah was to do class and rehearse for the rest of the day.

The entire company had Sunday off as no-one attended the theatre on a Sunday in Victorian times and only the most coarse entertainment venues were open. Sarah had promised to visit Mrs Laidley before the week was out and determined to do so on Sunday afternoon. Sunday morning, Sarah washed her practice dress and aired her blankets. With her first salary, she was going to buy bed linen early next week. She had already bought a proper dress for visiting with matching gloves on Saturday when she was paid.

Sarah had no housework to do as the landlady kept all the rooms clean. This in itself was a luxury. She decided to attend the one Catholic Church in the district in the morning, wash her hair and then go visiting at 3pm.

The mass was in Latin which Sarah found befuddling due to the language being strange but in another sense, she could follow it quite easily as the order was exactly the same. She found some breakfast in a small teahouse and spent a few hours taking the air in Hyde Park. She looked longingly into the book store windows but had so many practical things to buy that she decided that she couldn't afford luxuries yet.

At 3pm Sarah knocked on Mrs Laidley's door to be greeted with warmth and enthusiasm. Mrs Laidley was very pleased to see her and relieved to see Sarah had decent clothes and looked well enough.

"I suspect Dr Watson and Mr Holmes might show up too," Sarah said to Mrs Laidley.

Five minutes after we had settled into the parlour Holmes and Watson was ushered in.

"How did you know they were going to follow you in?" Mrs Laidley asked Sarah in amazement.

"If Mr Holmes is on the trail of a mystery, he is sure to always be lurking about somewhere. I must confess, I don't know what disguises he used this week as I was too absorbed in my own plans to pay much attention but I have a feeling he can tell you as much about my week as I could," Sarah said wryly.

Holmes smiled thinly, without warmth, and nodded his head. "Quite true. I must admit, there is still one fact missing. I know your first name but not your surname," he asked in his cold, incisive voice.

"It is Mounteney," Sarah replied immediately. Holmes visibly started, as did Watson. "What is it?" Sarah asked.

"The Duke of Kent's family name is Mounteney," Mr Holmes said, looking at her keenly with narrowed eyes.

"Oh yes, I know. I'm a distant descendant," Sarah said.

Mrs Laidley looked confused, but said nothing. Holmes and Watson exchanged a glance, but it was impossible to know what they were thinking. Sarah intercepted a look of icy suspicion as it flashed from Holmes to Watson. _Well, they could think what they liked, I wasn't lying_ , Sarah thought.

"Are they aware of the family connection?" Holmes asked curtly.

"Of course not," Sarah replied shortly. She disliked the tone in Holmes' voice.

"And you would prefer it to remain that way?" Holmes confirmed, raising his dark eyebrows with a slightly skeptical look.

"How would I explain to them?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Quite," Holmes said with a nod, looking away dismissively.

Sarah could almost see his agile mind running off in several different directions, trying to fit these new facts in with everything else he knew. Sarah was now sure he would decide the whole 'washed up in the family lake' incident was a ploy to launch herself into the family. Nothing could be further from her mind. Sarah was curious to see the family estate in Victorian times but preferably from a distance. It would be too strange to meet her own ancestors.

"Are you planning to visit them?" came the next rather inevitable question, again in a rather brusque tone.

"No," Sarah said firmly, staring him down.

Mrs Laidley tactfully changed the subject.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 _These ten times you have insulted me;_

 _You are not ashamed to wrong me._

Job 19:3

Later in the afternoon over a pot of tea, Dr Watson asked Holmes if he had drawn any conclusions as yet.

"I understand several things from Miss Mounteney's movements this week," Holmes said in a businesslike manner. "Firstly, Miss Mounteney understands the layout of London, but not how to get around it which is puzzling. Secondly, that she has no connections here apart of those of us in this room. Also, I have discovered that Miss Mounteney is an individual of personal resourcefulness and independence. I have seen great common sense, practicality, adaptability and cleverness in all her actions. Within one week Miss Mounteney has a well-paid position and two rooms in Soho, and some basic and practical possessions. In this time, she has imposed on no-one, been grateful for any help received and earned all she currently has. I believe, at this point in time and until facts prove otherwise, that she did not come to London to seek benefits from any other person. I deduce this from the fact that if this young woman had wanted to take advantage of anyone, she had several opportunities. Firstly, she could have played on the family connections in Kent and been somewhat within her rights to do so. Secondly, Miss Mounteney may have played on Mrs Laidley's very kind sympathies in order to have a comfortable and rent-free room for some time. Lastly, apart from an old dress and a room for one night, Miss Mounteney has not asked anyone for anything even when she so obviously had very little," Mr Holmes said coolly and impartially.

Sarah almost smiled. It sounded precisely like one of Holmes' many lectures to Watson on his deductive method relating to a crime. He was not seeking to compliment Sarah on her week's accomplishments; he was merely explaining his logical processes to Watson.

"Well done, Miss Mounteney," Dr Watson said with a genial smile. "But Holmes, that doesn't help explain the mystery of how she got here."

"No, it does not," Holmes agreed, turning his impassive grey eyes back on Sarah, assessing her impersonally. "But it does cancel out a great many motivations that she may have had to lie to us about it."

Sarah pondered that people generally were much less suspicious of your motivations if you were independent and asked for little.

"What are your plans now, dear?" Mrs Laidley asked kindly.

"To keep doing what I am doing. I need to establish myself in my chosen career in order to secure a living for myself. That will take up my energies for some months to come," Sarah replied with a shrug.

"The stage is a hard life," Mrs Laidley said with a small frown.

"I don't have any other accomplishments that are useful to me here, I'm afraid," Sarah said ruefully. "I can't draw and I don't have musical training, so I can't be a governess. I'm not a lady anyway, so the stage won't harm me."

"Marriage would be your best option," Watson said, looking dangerously solicitous.

"I don't want to marry. I want to dance," Sarah replied simply.

Holmes' gaze suddenly turned piercing. "I've never known a woman who didn't want to marry," he said, his mild tone belying the intensity of his scrutiny.

"I've known a few," Sarah said placidly, refusing to be drawn.

Sarah examined Holmes curiously. He was in a very different mood today to the day she had met him. He had been fairly impersonal and businesslike then, but there had been some cordiality even if it had taken a somewhat eccentric form. Today, he was being cold to the point of rudeness. Sarah felt uncomfortable, like she had done something wrong or offensive, although she knew she hadn't. What had happened between their last meeting and this meeting to change his manner toward her to such a degree? Or was he simply in a bad mood? Sarah didn't know and she was beginning not to care.

She wondered whether the gentle folk in the room would still want to know her once she had made her debut. If she made a name for herself, it may not be appropriate for them to associate with a 'ballet girl'. In these times, ballet dancers were notorious for being rich men's mistresses. It really seemed only one step up from being a prostitute. Then again, if Sarah didn't want to associate with rich men she didn't have to, she figured. From what Sarah understood, they were all cads anyway who led the young girls on and then dropped them when an appropriate marriage partner of their own class (and with their own wealth and income) came along. Sarah had no intention of being made a fool of as well if it were to ever come to that.

At around 4pm, Sarah took her leave with thanks. She felt curiously depressed. Although being dropped into Victorian England gave her some freedoms and opportunities she hadn't had in the twenty-first centuary, there were constraints too. She would not be moving in the circles of the genteel classes having to earn a living. Her living standards would be quite spartan unless she could make a name for herself. Worst of all, she knew nobody and fitted in nowhere.

One thing had become obvious to her during her visit to Mrs Laidley, Holmes and Watson were not going to become friends and she felt disappointed about that. It made her feel somewhat hollow. Holmes' attitude had been cold and suspicious to the point of insult. Watson would always follow where Holmes led. It had been a mistake to confide in them, Sarah acknowledged to herself. She had been hasty. Perhaps the shock of jumping back over a centuary had clouded her thinking.

It worried her that she now really had no friends. She knew she could go to the company director in any trouble and he would help her, but it wasn't the same as having friends. It was so obvious that she was going to be the new company star that the other dancers kept their distance, so she had no real friends amongst their ranks either.

She felt quite upset for some reason. Holmes' iciness and distrust had hurt her feelings. She wasn't entirely sure why. These traits had been well documented in Watson's writings. She supposed it hurt because she knew there was more to Holmes than the colder aspects of his personality. They shone through in his also well-documented friendship with Watson. There was courage, discipline, brilliance, loyalty, generosity and the ability to be caring. It was unpleasant to feel somehow disliked, she acknowledged, particularly when you didn't know what you did to deserve it and especially when she had found Holmes rather fascinating. She would have liked to know him better – or at least she _had_ wanted to know him better. Today had rather changed her mind. She wasn't entirely sure what she had been hoping for when she met him, but there was no doubt he had captured her imagination both before and after meeting him. The disappointment was rather crushing.

With an impatient hand, she quickly wiped away a tear hoping no-one would see in the late Sunday afternoon lull, and hurried back to Soho.

"I say Holmes, you were very cold to poor Miss Mounteney," Watson said in the cab on way back to Baker Street.

"Was I, Watson?" Holmes said languidly, his tone disinterested. Something inside Holmes shrank at Watson's words, however. He knew Watson was right. He had been unforgivably rude.

"Yes, I'm surprised she wasn't quite insulted," Watson mused.

"We're trying to solve a mystery Watson, not have pleasant tea parties," Holmes said, sounding bored. It was interesting, Holmes reflected, that the more agitated he felt, the better he was at hiding it. Long practice, he supposed.

"No need to take quite that tone with her. I know she's not a girl, but she's still a very young woman," Watson persisted. He had developed a soft spot for Sarah.

Holmes disliked being lectured by Watson. It was a role reversal in their friendship and did not sit comfortably.

"The fair sex is your area of specialisation, Watson," Holmes said indolently, leaning back in the hansom. To his surprise, he caught a glimpse of Sarah hurrying towards Soho in the distance. She must have left Mrs Laidley's very soon after they had. He saw her raise a gloved hand quickly to her face and turn away from the busy street for a moment. As certainly as if he had been standing right in front of her, he knew she was crying. He suddenly felt like he had been punched in the gut and his skin went cold. He knew it was his fault and he felt sick.

"What's the matter, Holmes? You've gone very pale," Watson said, alarmed.

"I need something to eat. I didn't eat dinner last night and I haven't eaten yet today," Holmes said, recovering himself quickly and feigning a yawn.

"You're eating habits are unbelievable," Watson clucked.

Holmes didn't exactly feel like eating anything now. His stomach was churning.

When they got back to Baker Street, Watson made him eat two boiled eggs and plenty of toast that he asked Mrs Hudson to prepare.

"I'll get Mrs Hudson to make us a proper dinner," Watson fussed.

"Yes, yes. I'm a bit done up, I'm going to retire for a few hours until dinner," Holmes excused himself and escaped to his room.

He leaned against the shut door and simply stood still for a few minutes. The worst was over. He had gotten through a face to face meeting with Sarah without humiliating himself. The only way he had been able to be in a room with her and not give himself away was to stay distant and remember that his job was to treat her with suspicion. The only way to cool his over-heated blood had been to use arctic tactics. He had known he could do so, he wasn't a callow teen-ager. As it turned out however, he couldn't do it without being so aloof and frosty that it was insulting and hurt her feelings.

He turned around and leaned his forehead on the doorjamb, his usually impeccably groomed hair falling forward over his brow and tightly shut eyes. Now he had made her cry with his frozen rudeness and she would probably never want to speak to him again. His head told him that was the best solution for both of them, but fine tendrils of pain were spreading over his body at the thought he may never sit in a room with her again or feel her warm, curious gaze upon him. Why did he have to freeze out the one woman who had ever really _looked_ at him? The one woman who fit the pattern of his dreams? He was an ass.

He changed his mind about staying in his room. He felt suffocated and restless. Changing quickly into one of his ruffian's outfits and deliberately messing up his hair, he scooted out the front door. Mercifully, Watson was in his room and did not see him leave. Mrs Hudson would be put out at cooking dinner when he wasn't there, but he knew Watson would do justice to it.

When he was particularly frustrated, he liked to go for a run. Often, he would end up at a local gym and take in some boxing or stick fighting too. His gymnasium was used to seeing him turn up in outlandish outfits and never asked any questions.

He deliberately made efforts to stay physically fit and strong. There had been times he had to fight for his life and would be again. He could not afford to be unfit. He ran because he liked it. He had always been very fast. His light frame and long legs gave him an advantage. It was just as well, as it had allowed him to outrun his heavy, clumsy father and the thugs and bullies at school. He would probably have been badly hurt on several occasions if it weren't for his swiftness, he reflected as he ran through the swirling fog, his face uplifted to the light rain that fell in the twilight.

He also liked the buzz it gave him once he was done. It was almost as good as cocaine – not quite, but almost. Sometimes he ran just to have the natural high.

He decided to go to the gym, after all. He was spoiling for a fight. It would be good to match wits and fists with one of the new up-and-comers in his weight class. He learned a lot of new tricks from sparring with professionals.

He was met at the gym with hearty greetings from some of the regulars.

"We 'aven't seen you for awhile, Mr 'olmes. Where've you been? We've got a new star over from Belgium. I reckon you'd like a go at 'im," the owner said with a laugh, pointing out a young man obviously in the same weight division as Holmes but probably a good half a foot shorter.

Holmes tossed his dark, wet fringe off his forehead and sized up his opponent. He already knew the boy would be a bit heavy on his feet and therefore it would be best to try and take him off balance with a good cross-hit.

Three rounds later, Holmes had been proved right. He had a black eye himself, the boy had a fast jab, but he wasn't fast enough to duck a good straight left.

"He's got a promising career," Holmes acknowledged to the owner, having shaken hands with his opponent once he got off the floor.

"I ain't come across one that can take that cross hit of yours," the owner said with a shake of his head, "You take care of that eye now."

"It will be fine, good night!" Holmes said quite cheerfully and set off to run back to Baker Street.

It was now dark and quite late. The air was cold which was welcome to his hot, sweaty face. His face hurt, but it was a good hurt. The adrenalin from the fight was still singing in his blood and the buzz from his run had turned into a monumental high.

He knew why he was attracted to violent sports, not just as a means of self-protection, but also because of the adrenalin. It had started in school as a way of fending off the bullies. Along the way, he had found out the side benefits – the buzz of physical activity and the fight. Now he was somewhat addicted to the exhilaration.

It was even more pronounced after he had been in a dangerous situation connected with his work. Facing down a criminal or making a narrow escape from a sticky situation had created the same natural high. He knew why people talked about laughing in the face of danger. It wasn't courage. It was because the adrenalin _felt_ so damn good for so long afterwards. He felt alive in a way he never did otherwise. For a short time, he felt connected to life. Then things would sink back into their dreary, bleak ordinariness until the next exciting case came along and he could feel alive again for a while.

He even liked pain, he acknowledged. Physical pain was a good distraction and it reminded him he was alive on the days when he was simply unable to feel anything at all. Some days, that dead feeling was so bad that he was tempted to pick up something sharp and do something violent to himself, just so he could reconnect to reality. So far, he had always managed to resist the almost demonic urge by finding the nearest gymnasium and having someone else inflict the cure instead.

He was really tired by the time he dragged himself inside. The lack of food was making itself felt although he still had no appetite. Watson had gone to bed, judging by the absence of light under his door. He washed himself in the basin of cold water in his room and a facecloth, taking special care of his face and threw himself into bed.

He was so exhausted that he was able to sleep, but it was Sarah's slightly confused and hurt expression as she looked curiously at him in Mrs Laidley's parlour that stalked him into unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 _Meanwhile, the man was gazing at her in silence_

Genesis 24:20-22

The weeks until Sarah's debut passed quickly. She began making acquaintances with some of the girls she danced with. They were nice enough and obviously from quite common origins. Genteel classes did not feed ballet companies in Victorian times.

Sarah worked hard in her rooms each night, stretching the reach of her extension and strengthening individual muscle groups in order to improve her technique. She did all of her old advanced syllabus every night so that she didn't forget the modern standards she had been taught. She knew it was her advantage and it might allow her to make a name for herself and a more comfortable living.

The Artistic Director was pleased with Sarah's dancing. He would often watch her rehearse in silence, not yelling chastisements the way he did to the corps de ballet girls (who generally deserved it for their sloppy, lazy dancing).

He asked Sarah over the weeks to show him the full range of her repertoire, including the more modern choreography that she knew which was not always easy to perform in the long skirts. The first time he saw Sarah perform a full-length modern virtuoso piece, Sarah was sure he had dollar signs in his eyes. She had already figured out by that time that she was bringing a completely new level of ballet to London. Pointe shoes were still a very new invention, so the fact that she could dance en pointe with such relative strength and agility (even in the poorly made ones available in London) was a huge advantage for her dancing career. The Artistic Director was anticipating a sensation. Sarah hoped he was correct.

Over these few weeks, Sarah had visited Mrs Laidley each weekend for an hour or two. Sarah didn't like to impose but it was always lovely to see her. Mrs Laidley always welcomed Sarah with eagerness and some relief as well. She perceived London to be a dangerous place and Victorian London was but Sarah moved in such small circles and knew so few people that she was unlikely to run into trouble.

Other dancers lived in Soho too and they all walked home from the theatre together after dark in a pack, so they were unlikely to be bothered although they always received catcalls from the men hanging around who knew they were the 'ballet girls' of rather less than respectable reputation. The girls in the ballet set their standards rather high in some respects, however. A man who was not a gentleman of some kind or at least in a well-paid situation was unlikely to gain any attention from one of these attractive creatures. Sarah had been chosen for her dancing but most of the girls had been chosen for their looks, a fact they fully appreciated and exploited to the hilt.

They were practical girls, not at all romantic. They did not want to work any harder for a living than they had to and only got into the ballet world to gain the attention of the 'right' sort of man. The glory and advancement of the arts was the last thing on their minds. It would take the genius of the likes of Pavlova and Karsarvina and Fokine and Njinsky to light the fire of artistry in this glamorous profession and give it more credibility. These great lights were still to come.

It struck Sarah suddenly that she could still be alive and living in Victorian England when these great events in the ballet world would come about. Fokine's choreography on Pavlova of the Dying Swan was less than fifteen years away in time. The Ballet Russe's Paris debut would be less than twenty years from now. The great ballets were being choreographed by Petipa in Russia at this very moment. To Sarah all of a sudden, the life of a ballet girl in London seemed better than an office drudge in London over 100 years into the future.

The night of Sarah's debut was cool and rainy – not unexpected weather in London. She had been hesitant to invite either Watson or Holmes to her debut, assuming they would not be interested in the antics of a mere acquaintance and a ballet girl to boot, particularly after their last meeting. The Director had sent a cab to Sarah's rooms as she was expected to rest in her apartments that afternoon rather than rehearse so she would have enough strength to perform a full principal role that night. Sarah thought it a very quaint notion as modern dancers were expected to put in a full day of class and rehearsals before performing at night. They were also expected to do full-length performances five or six days out of seven each week. The dancers who were not principals could do up to ten full length performances a week. Victorian principal dancers were only expected to do two or three full length performances a week. It seemed Victorian dancers were pampered creatures compared to their modern counterparts.

Sarah went to the theatre in her practice dress so she could finish off her warm up before changing into the costume that had been created for her by the wardrobe mistress. As Sarah was not known, there was no-one waiting for her at the stage door as there would have been if a known star was performing that evening. However, there would be a full house. There always was for any London show. Without television or even radio to amuse Victorian Londoners, the concert halls and theatres and music halls and revues were always fully booked each night. Music lovers could only indulge their passion through live music as gramophones still had very poor sound reproduction. Many people went to the ballet more for the live orchestra than for the dancing in Victorian days, Sarah knew.

Sarah warmed up behind the curtain with the other dancers and went to change an hour before the curtain went up. She carefully applied heavy rouge to her lips and black kohl to her eyes. She found the false eyelashes murderous to get on and the white powder she had to cover herself with (white skin being the fashion) got all over everything she touched.

Finally the orchestra was tuning up and it was time to make her way to the wings. Sarah's debut had begun.

After the exertion of the evening, covered with sweat from the hot gas lighting despite the cool night and with her feet a mess from the dreadful, stiff, narrow pointe shoes, Sarah was glad when it was all over. The audience had reacted strangely to her dancing. When the curtain first went up, there were the usual rustlings of a bored audience except worse because the audience was so much closer to the small stage. It was strangely intimate to someone like Sarah who had done amateur performances on vast stages with the audience comparatively far away. By half an hour in, the rustlings and whisperings and restlessness had stopped. Every time Sarah turned on pointe or did a large leap or lifted her leg higher than ninety degrees, the audience audibly gasped. It was a bit off-putting until she got used to it. After her first solo, there was a long silence as Sarah took her curtsey and ran off-stage. The dancers in the wings looked apprehensive and even the orchestra didn't know what to do. Then, slowly there was a building crescendo of sound. Not just clapping but cheering, whistling, stamping and calls of "bravo". It went on for so long and the dancers pushed Sarah onto the stage so many times to take bows that the manager eventually had to go out and quieten them down so the performance could proceed.

By the second act, the audience was quiet immediately the lights went down and so it went through all four acts. The other dancers looked at Sarah oddly in the wings, as though she was suddenly an alien amongst them once more. At the end of the fourth act, the audience applauded and cheered and stamped for so long that Sarah thought she would never get home. Sarah kept smiling and slipping away backstage hoping they would let her go home but they would keep applauding. Modern audiences were never so effusive, Sarah thought, jaded by the over-abundance of easy-to-access entertainment. Sarah was given the customary dozen red roses and she gave one to her leading man who was both lovely and obviously gay. He had been a considerate partner that night and it was not always the case. Later, Sarah would find out that he was particularly supportive of her as most of the other dancers treated him as an outcast due to his sexuality. In many ways, Sarah observed, he was a lonely man despite his lovers.

Finally, the audience let Sarah go and she was able to retire to her dressing room. Sarah's dressing room was as she had left it. The flowers sent to established stars did not embellish the dressing room of an unknown like Sarah, but she was happy enough. The Artistic Director was so pleased that his face practically shone, so Sarah was guaranteed to keep her place as a principal dancer. That was all she cared about.

As she was removing her make-up, a knock on her door brought in a harried looking porter.

"There's an awful lot of people wanting to make your acquaintance now, miss. I've been keeping them at bay," he said ruefully, shaking his head, "There was two gentlemen and a lady says they know you. Here're their cards. Shall I show them in?"

The cards were for Watson and Holmes. Sarah felt quite shocked. She had no idea why they were paying a social call. It was with trepidation that she told the porter to show them in. She did not want a repeat performance of her last interview with them both, particularly when she was so tired. Sarah hurriedly removed the last of her make-up but she didn't have time to change and so threw a dressing gown over her costume.

Mrs Laidley came in first with a kind, beaming smile and hugged her. Sarah thought how lovely it was to see her. Dr Watson came next with a huge smile of his own and hearty handshakes of congratulation. Mr Holmes was much cooler which did not surprise Sarah, but he congratulated her generously enough, offering his thin cold hand to shake in a gentlemanly fashion.

Sarah noticed that Holmes had a bruised face. It was not the same black eye as he had earned the night that they had all visited Mrs Laidley, but the bruises had been administered by the same young boxer. Holmes had gone back a few times to spar and although he was getting better at dodging the boxer's jabs, he still got caught occasionally.

Sarah examined his face with a ghost of a smile. She remembered from Watson's accounts that Holmes liked certain sports.

"Boxing?" she asked, her fine brows raised questioningly.

Holmes was surprised into momentary speechlessness. How did she know what he did during his free evenings?

"Ha! You should see the other fellow!" Watson exclaimed enthusiastically, having witnessed a couple of recent bouts, "He keeps getting dragged out of the ring," he added proudly.

Sarah glanced at Watson with a conspirator's smile.

"Of course, I'm sure Mr Holmes knocked him out completely each time and only got away with this little scratch," she said calmly, putting one finger teasingly on the bruise on his face before turning and going back to her chair.

Holmes recoiled from Sarah's finger like it was a red hot poker, but she had already turned away. Feeling deeply unsettled, he sat down on one of the chairs in the room and lit his pipe.

Sarah told them how pleased she was that they had come to the opening night. "I would have got you tickets if I had known you wanted to attend," she said shyly.

"Mrs Laidley wanted to surprise you," Dr Watson said with an affectionate look at his old landlady.

Mrs Laidley smiled and put her hand on mine. "We would not have missed it for the world and my dear, you certainly are an extraordinary dancer. I am not terribly familiar with ballet, I must admit but I am sure I have never witnessed such a brilliant performance. You will be the talk of London for a long time."

"There is no doubt about that," Holmes said in his dry voice. "I hardly expect London audiences are used to going to the ballet to watch the _dancing_ , as such," he added, his voice heavy with irony.

"They will now," Dr Watson said with a smile at Sarah and a half bow.

"I hope so. I think ballet will change a great deal in the next few decades," Sarah said truthfully.

"Well, it was a pleasant change to see a dancer who does not over-act abominably," Holmes observed acerbically but with a stiff nod in Sarah's direction. "I have often sat through appalling ballets just to hear the music and it was a relief not to have my artistic sensibilities offended for once," he added rather irritably.

Sarah thought this was quite funny and to her surprise, she laughed. "Well, you're honest at least" she replied.

As they talked, Sarah found herself studying Holmes once more. Was he thinner than when they had first met? Watson had described him as tall and thin. Thin would be an exaggeration. Tall and slender was closer to the truth. He could not have been the sportsman Watson described if he had truly been thin. Still, it appeared he had lost weight and there were purple marks under his eyes that had not been there before. Had he been abusing cocaine more than usual? Had he been on a big case? He was still quite young, so his face was not as fleshless as it would become in middle age, at least according to Paget's drawings. Despite Holmes' recent icy attitude toward her, Sarah couldn't help worrying that Holmes was being self-destructive and wondering why. Then Sarah wondered why she was worrying about him. He was not her concern and he was certainly not concerned about her.

"You realise there is an army of young men out there waiting to escort you home," Dr Watson said, a trifle anxiously.

This immediately broke Sarah's private reverie. "There is?" she asked anxiously.

"It is the custom for a new ballet star to be the centre of a great deal of male attention," Mr Holmes said wryly, a sharp glance from his cool grey eyes meeting the worried look of Dr Watson.

"You may have some trouble getting through the crowd unnoticed," Mrs Laidley said gently.

Sarah glanced around at their faces. "Would you help me get home?" she asked worriedly. "I can make arrangements in future in case this happens again but honestly, I didn't think anything like this would happen tonight."

"Why not?" Mr Holmes asked sharply.

"Because a few hours ago, I was completely unknown," Sarah replied, a prickly edge creeping into her voice.

"You must have known with that technique of yours that you would be an instant success," Mr Holmes replied shrewdly, examining Sarah with narrowed eyes once again.

"Where I come from stage stars are not made much of a fuss of. They would certainly have no problems getting home without being mobbed," Sarah replied truthfully.

Mr Holmes' perceptive grey eyes scrutinised Sarah minutely as he digested this piece of information but he didn't comment further. He was obviously trying to imagine a world where stage stars were not instantly recognised and feted and fussed over, and he was clearly failing.

"Why aren't they fussed over?" he demanded.

"Because there are so many forms of easy-to-access and cheap entertainment. Like iPods, for instance," Sarah explained.

Holmes' face became shuttered as he considered this but he didn't say anything further.

In the end, Dr Watson and Mr Holmes stood on both sides of Sarah to push back the crowd with Mrs Laidley safely bringing up the rear. They had waited outside while Sarah quickly got changed and then they pushed their way through what seemed like hundreds of people (but was probably only a few dozen) to get Sarah into a cab. All the time, young men in evening dress were trying to talk to Sarah and introduce themselves or press gifts into her hands. With smiling thanks, Sarah refused all offers as she was frog-marched into a cab nearby.

 _A/N – Sherlock Holmes is such a small fandom, I really had doubts that anyone would read along with my story, so I am really surprised and appreciative of the reviews and encouragement so far. Thank you._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

… _for all the people of my town know that you_ _are_ _a_ _virtuous_ _woman._

Ruth 3:10-12

Instead of taking Sarah to her lodgings, Mrs Laidley insisted she stay with her once more. "Soho isn't a safe neighbourhood at the best of times. For a famous ballerina it is downright dangerous," Mrs Laidley said seriously.

"Yes, Miss Mounteney. You will need to move premises and soon," Watson lectured with fatherly sternness.

Sarah absorbed this advice thoughtfully. There was a chance that the Artistic Director would put her salary up now. If he did, she could afford to move to the more respectable suburbs although it would still need to be close to the theatre district. She would have to be able to afford door to door cabs from now on too, probably.

Sarah suddenly felt very tired. She didn't want to deal with these problems tonight, it was too late. She submitted to Mrs Laidley's insistence of staying with her temporarily until she could make other arrangements.

They dropped Watson and Holmes off at their Baker Street flat and carried on to Mrs Laidley's residence. The first thing Sarah did was have a bath (which was always a bit of a palaver what with heating up water, dragging out the tub and then emptying it later).

Sarah lay awake for a few minutes thinking over the extraordinary night, but she thought most about seeing Holmes and Watson again. It was so completely unexpected. Why had they come? She supposed Holmes was still trying to find new leads on where she came from and what she was up to.

Holmes' distant coldness had been a bit less upsetting this time. She had been expecting it and it hadn't been a nasty surprise. She had deliberately teased him, knowing he would hate it. He had reacted exactly as she had predicted. It was her slight revenge on him for hurting her feelings at their last meeting. He was still unpleasantly suspicious, but she had expected that too. She was sure he would either come up with an explanation that satisfied him (even if it was wrong) or would find other more interesting and profitable work to do, and forget about her soon. She was fairly certain she would not see them again. She slept without waking until morning.

Watson had gone straight to bed when they got back from the theatre, so Holmes had the sitting room to himself.

The admirers he predicted had been waiting for her at the stage door, but rather than look pleased she had looked frightened. Why the fear? Her future was secure. Whatever she may say about wanting to dance rather than marry, she undoubtedly would marry eventually. What other future could there be for her?

She had looked very different on stage. They had very cleverly disguised her short hair with hair pieces and the heavy make-up emphasised her naturally feminine features. Holmes found it made her look even more ethereal from the other side of the footlights.

It had been Watson's idea to go tonight. He had struggled with himself. One part of him wanted to avoid another disastrous encounter like the last at all costs. The larger part of him wanted to see her again. He never tired of looking at her. He had to be careful not to stare, however. She had been looking at him again, though. Again, with that odd look of curiousity and compassion which sent warmth creeping over his skin and into his chest where it seemed to lodge like a small, burning coal.

One thing was certain, he was no closer to solving the mystery of where she came from and what, if any, game she was playing.

Sarah stayed with Mrs Laidley for approximately one week. The Artistic Director approached her first thing the next day when she arrived for class and offered to not only double her salary but also give her performance bonuses – the more she performed, the more she earned. Sarah knew she had the stamina to dance at least four times a week. She knew she could probably do more but didn't really need to. With what she was being offered, she could afford a very nice two room apartment in Oxford Street close to Bond Street which was fairly respectable, reasonably safe and near the theatre. She could also afford to take cabs whenever she needed them.

At Baker Street, Holmes and Watson were discussing the 'case of the displaced dancer'.

"There is a mystery here, Watson," Holmes said, as he puffed away on his briar pipe one evening at Baker Street soon after the debut, "The story about Miss Mounteney coming from two thousand and ten is absurd, but there is so much that is inexplicable. I have been gathering data but none of it fits any likely scenario," Holmes said meditatively.

"She's not a young girl, she's twenty-one – only seven years younger than you," Watson reminded his friend.

"So she is," Holmes replied dispassionately, "she is so small that she appears younger than she is."

"Just as well with that young fellow having to haul her about in the air like that," Watson observed with a touch of humour.

"Quite," Holmes said shortly. "Well, what do you make of it Watson?"

"I can't make head or tail of it," Watson admitted with a shrug. "She was found unconscious at the lake in clothes I have never seen the make or cut of before, she speaks with a peculiar accent, her hair is cut in a fashion I've never seen before, she is carrying an odd satchel full of things that cannot be found in any modern shop, she displays a talent for an art form so remarkable that she appears to be years before her time, and she also exhibits an independence and resourcefulness most unusual for a woman. At the same time, she behaves with a modesty and propriety which betokens a good education and upbringing. She claims to be from the future which sounds like madness, yet she is such a sensible and clear-headed woman," Watson concluded.

"An excellent summary, Watson," Holmes commended, "Yes, it is clear that Miss Mounteney is not mad. She certainly is unusual – full of contradictions. On one hand, most ballet girls choose this career to widen their prospects. Our young woman makes a concerted effort to avoid the numerous opportunities that have recently come her way due to her sudden fame. Obviously, she is not dancing in order to land herself a wealthy patron otherwise she could easily have already lined one up."

"She may be in the process of it," Watson said with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Watson, I am taking this investigation seriously. If she was in the process of ensnaring some rich gentleman, I would know," Holmes said sharply, his lids half lowered as he looked at Watson over his pipe.

"I didn't realise you were watching Miss Mounteney this closely," Watson said with surprise.

"I cannot hope to solve this conundrum without data!" Holmes said, his lips thinning.

"Of course," Watson said in a pacifying tone.

Holmes reflected that is had not been particularly difficult to discern whether Sarah was in the process of ensnaring a rich protector. Simply lounging around in the guise of a loafer near her house, watching innumerable gifts arrive from admirers and being sent straight back to the sender gave fair indication. Then, she never received visitors either. Anyone who presumed to drop by was sent away with the message that she was out or otherwise engaged. She received copious telegrams and letters from admirers which his irregulars found simple to intercept. Some of them were embarrassing in their declarations, others were outrageous in their impudence, many were downright insulting to any women let alone a respectable one, and some were merely polite and heartfelt. With some amusement, he had seen them being burnt every morning in the outside incinerator before she left for the theatre. She watched until they were all consumed, seemingly fearful that any may survive the flames to embarrass her later. There was sometimes an oddly brooding look on her face as she meditated before the fire, as though her thoughts about the letters were dark ones. He knew from watching her correspondence that she never replied to any in writing or by messenger. Holmes also knew that she never accepted invitations to meet any of her admirers at their homes or in teahouses. There were no secret assignations. It would have been impossible to escape the eyes of his irregulars if there had been.

Reluctantly, Holmes tended to admire Sarah's actions. She was self-protective and sensible. She knew the value of her reputation. He was yet to discern if there was genuine morality and modesty underlying her decisions or if it was simply good sense to not allow herself to be compromised as she was now a public figure. Scandal could taint her forever, regardless of her dancing.

Holmes focused on his conversation with Watson once again.

"My point is, we can rule out the motive of seeking a wealthy patron and an easy life for now," Holmes continued, suddenly relaxing back into his leather wing chair.

"It wouldn't explain all the strange things about her when she was first found – the clothes, the hair, the satchel, that remarkable iPod thing and so on," Watson remarked, lighting a cigar.

"Exactly Watson! But we do know it was not an act to gain some kind of advantage in establishing a career where odd stories merely enhance one's success and fame rather than detract from it," Holmes said.

"No, she doesn't seem so keen on the fame although she admits to liking the money and the things it allows her to do," Watson observed.

"Ah! Obviously you have had a conversation with Miss Mounteney that I have not been privy to," Holmes said, cocking his head with interest.

Watson looked a bit guilty. It was true he had seen Sarah a couple of times at Mrs Laidley's house when he had been visiting his old friend but also quite hopeful of running into the very pretty dancer at the same time. He had developed a bit of a crush on Sarah, but he didn't want Holmes to know. His friend seemed to have taken a dislike to Sarah for some reason, although Watson could not for the life of him figure out why. Sarah seemed harmless to him. She was always pleasant and although the way she spoke and her manners were sometimes quite different to theirs, they were still good manners. She was always polite and amiable which was more than could be said for Holmes.

"Just chance remarks," Watson said, gesturing with his cigar, "She said she likes the nicer rooms in Oxford Street and feels a bit safer there. She's not so keen on having to take cabs everywhere as she said she likes walking and looking about but it's no longer practical for her. She said she enjoys being able to slowly buy herself a decent wardrobe of clothes without having to budget so stringently and that it was a real joy to be able to afford to buy herself a book the other day. Just little things like that."

Holmes' gaze turned inward and it was obvious to Watson that Holmes no longer even saw him, so deep in thought was he.

"Any one of those silly, rich young men would buy her as many books as she wanted, not to mention jewels and property and silk dresses and flowers and trinkets and all kinds of useless jeejaws," Holmes said, almost to himself.

"I get the impression that she's rather proud of being able to do these things independently. I rather think she'd rather be poor and beholden to nobody than on a rich man's arm," Watson mused.

"Or even be a wife," Holmes added dryly, pointing his pipe meaningfully at Watson.

"Yes, she's enough of a success even to attract a rich husband rather than end up a kept mistress like most of them," Watson admitted with a small sigh.

Holmes' face expressed his opinion of that fate but he said nothing.

"It doesn't make sense. It doesn't add up," Holmes said, his sharp-featured face suddenly a picture of irritation. "There is no reason for her to have staged that incident at the Mounteney estate. She has not sought to go back there or be reintroduced to her estranged family. She is making no claim on them at all. In fact, she has resisted the idea. As for the strange clothes and hair and possessions; that is a mystery I cannot even begin to solve. I admit Watson that I am at a total loss!" he said, pounding his arm rest in frustration, "I do not understand her motivations at all!"

"Perhaps she really is lost, like she said. Perhaps everything she had done has been merely to survive in a strange place. She took her one useful talent in hand and used it to feed and clothe herself in a place where she knows no-one," Watson said with a shrug, "Perhaps she's been telling the truth about that."

Watson, being naturally sympathetic in nature and also a bit sweet on Sarah, tended to take the kindest view.

"But where did she come from? If she is telling the truth about being lost and in a strange place then this question must be answered," Holmes countered with evident dissatisfaction, "Sarah's attire and hair suggests a totally different origin – a totally different nature than anything derived from modern British culture and fashion."

"What about her accent?" Watson posed.

"Yes, that does seem genuine although there is an odd intonation," Holmes replied thoughtfully.

"It is a complete conundrum," Watson said, shaking his head.

"I mean to solve it," Holmes said, his grey eyes narrowing. "If I have to dog every footstep Miss Mounteney takes, I will solve this mystery and find out what game this young woman is playing."

"What happens if you find she is not playing any game?" Watson asked seriously, slightly alarmed by his friend's strange intensity.

"Then Watson, we have something very strange indeed on our hands; very strange indeed," Holmes said.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 _Why is my pain perpetual and my_ _wound_ _incurable, w_ _hich_ _refuses to be healed?_

Jeremiah 15:18

From the day after Sarah's debut, the other dancers in the company treated her quite differently. They already saw her as a bit of an outsider due to her strangely advanced technique and accent, but now she was treated as the 'star' with far more deference and respect than any modern ballerina would ever be shown by fellow dancers.

Despite this new attitude, a particularly pretty corp de ballet member sidled up to Sarah during a break in rehearsals a couple weeks after the debut. It was obvious it had taken her awhile to screw up her courage to speak to Sarah.

"I saw you had guests after your debut," she said shyly.

Sarah smiled at her. She liked Miranda. She was very young, not even eighteen and had a very sweet and unassuming nature.

"Yes, some friends of mine. They were kind enough to come to the debut. I hadn't been expecting them, so it was a nice surprise," Sarah replied as she continued to repair a ribbon on one of her shoes. It wasn't strictly accurate to call Holmes and Watson friends, but what else could she say?

"Yes, you're very lucky to have such nice friends. I thought one of them was very handsome," Miranda said hesitantly and blushed prettily.

Sarah felt a bit startled. It had never occurred to her that either Watson or Holmes was handsome.

"Which one was that?" Sarah asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh, the one with the kind brown eyes, of course," Miranda said as though it were obvious. Her blue eyes were shining at the memory.

"Oh, Dr Watson," Sarah replied, "I suppose he is rather nice looking. I hadn't thought about it," Sarah mused aloud.

"How can you not think about it when you see him all the time? I wouldn't think about anything else," Miranda said with a dreamy smile on her pretty face. "And he's a doctor, too? How marvelous," she added. "So, Dr Watson isn't your beau then?" she asked curiously, "I assumed he was, being so handsome and all."

"Oh no, not at all!" Sarah said, feeling alarmed about who else may be thinking the same thing.

"Do you wish he was?" Miranda asked wistfully.

"No, I like Dr Watson but I had never thought about him in those terms," Sarah replied with complete honesty.

"Oh, is your beau the other gentleman then? The very tall man?" Miranda asked ingenuously.

"No," Sarah said, feeling oddly rattled by the idea.

"Is he nice too, like Dr Watson?" Miranda asked, wide-eyed.

"It's hard to describe Mr Holmes," Sarah said honestly, a peculiar expression on her face, "You would have to know him. He's an unusual man," she replied, unsure of what else to say.

"Unusual how?" Miranda persisted.

"Mr Holmes is all brain and his work is his entire focus. He doesn't really like or trust women although he can be very chivalrous I believe," Sarah said frankly. Although, she thought, if Holmes could be chivalrous she only knew that from reading Watson's stories, not from her own experience of him. "I believe he's rather self-destructive, but I don't know why. He says exactly what he thinks, regardless of any consideration such as good manners…. He's a very cold person," she added after a thoughtful pause, talking more to herself than to Miranda.

"He sounds very strange. So, you don't like either of them?" Miranda asked incredulously.

"I like both of them, but I'm not in love with either of them," Sarah replied, not sure she was being altogether honest. She liked Watson, but did she like Holmes? Not really. Admiring someone and being a bit fascinated by them was not the same as liking them.

"Do you think one of them is in love with you?" Miranda asked wide-eyed.

"Definitely not!" Sarah said with a genuine laugh. _Now that really was a ridiculous idea_ , she thought.

"It's very strange. You're so pretty and now you're so famous. It's the famous dancers who get the good husbands. Girls like me don't stand a chance. If I'm lucky, I'll marry some government clerk," Miranda said with a disconsolate sigh.

"You're the prettiest girl in the corps de ballet. You could marry a doctor, but I don't know enough about Dr Watson to recommend him to you, I'm afraid. You're right about one thing though, he is very kind," Sarah said comfortingly.

Miranda's face brightened at the thought and she went away happy.

Holmes went home that evening and dispensed with his stage hand's disguise which had used on quite a few occasions quite successfully.

He sat cross-legged on the chair in front of the fire and smoked his pipe, letting his supper go cold on the table and reflecting that eavesdroppers seldom heard well of themselves.

Firstly, he discovered that Watson was considered the handsome one which he would have acknowledged himself but it stung when a young, pretty woman said as much. It was interesting however, that Sarah herself had not made the distinction between them. She was unsure which of the two of them the little blonde was talking about at first. He wasn't sure this wasn't the greater insult – Sarah appeared to have not even noticed they were two eligible males!

Secondly, he had to see Sarah look startled at the idea that Holmes was her beau as though the idea was quite disturbing, a reaction which had cut through him like a stiletto knife. It took a while to remember to breathe again after that. He knew he deserved it. He had been offensive the last two times they had met, but how else did try and maintain his objectivity and discover the truth? He could not make accurate deductions if he was distracted in her company. The foolishness of her admirers, the behaviour of whom he had had plenty of opportunity to observe recently, served as a caution to Holmes. It was impossible to be objective in the grip of passion or infatuation.

Thirdly, he had to listen to Sarah's rather accurate potted summary of his character. He would have described himself in the same way on some points, but he felt being assessed as disliking and distrusting women was too harsh. He knew that he had been cold with her, so he had only himself to blame there. However, she had made him seem some like something inhuman. And was he? Or was it simply a case that Sarah barely knew him and had only encountered him in his most extreme detective mode when intense suspicion and a cool, impartial head were strictly necessary?

Lastly and most importantly, where did she get the notion that he was self-destructive? Mycroft had once said the same thing to him many years ago when he was still at university, but no-one else had ever noticed, not even Watson. Had she already observed and intuited so much about him in such a short space of time? It made him deeply uncomfortable. He liked to know far more about others than they knew about him. Thus far in his life, very few people had been at all interested in knowing or understanding him. His brother knew him by blood. Watson had studied him but really did not have the intellect to comprehend anything but the surface of his life and the face he showed the world. Watson could not penetrate the mask that Holmes presented to him and knew nothing more than Holmes chose to show him. Now Sarah had come along and pierced right through his carefully constructed armour into the heart of one key aspect of his character and personality. What else had she seen?

He sighed deeply. If he was honest with himself, he knew that Sarah had in fact been kind. She could have said far worse things. She could have said he was rude, odious, difficult and unpleasant in just about every way.

He covered his face with his pale hands, rubbing his eyes tiredly and then winced when the bruise on his face stung. He needed more sleep but hadn't slept well lately. He seemed to be constantly keyed up. It wasn't just the riddle of Sarah's origins or even the riddle of his feelings for her. It was also the enigma of why he was the way he was which Sarah's appearance had suddenly shone a bright, white spotlight on.

Sarah casually asked Dr Watson if he thought their youngest corps de ballet member was quite pretty and he got quite flustered. Sarah thought it was because he had noticed Miranda and did think she was very pretty. Actually, it was because Watson realised that Sarah had not noticed him at all and was busy matchmaking. With a sinking heart and unsure of what else to do without appearing ungallant, Watson politely agreed to be introduced and found that Miranda was not only more than quite pretty but also gentle natured, modest and obviously admired him very much. It was irresistible to a warm-hearted and warm-blooded man like Watson to have an appealing pair of blue eyes watching him with such shy and obvious hero-worship. The young woman's eyes shone and her cheeks were pink. Sarah thought it was the cutest thing ever.

Sarah often played chaperone and the two did get well acquainted over a period of a year or more before the tour. Sadly, Miranda got a terrible case of pneumonia and despite Watson's best efforts for her; she succumbed before her nineteenth birthday. Before she died, Dr Watson married the young woman as it was her final wish but Miranda only had her dream come true for a few days before she was lying cold in the ground. Dr Watson did not court anyone else before he was to meet Mary Morstan. As for Sarah, Miranda's shy, gentle, shining blue eyes were to haunt her for the rest of her life, but it was a comfort to her that Miranda married her doctor.

Within one month of Sarah's debut, she had established herself in Oxford Street and was quite comfortable. Her rooms were kept quite Spartan to allow her to practice on the wooden floors but she had plans to acquire a comfortable chair so she could sit in front of the fire for a little while before going to bed. Perhaps she could afford it by the end of the following month, she calculated. Sarah had decided to start a savings plan. Dancers could not dance forever. She only had another 12-15 years if she was lucky. Sarah knew that she would need to earn enough to live on for the rest of her life if she could not make it back to the twenty-first centuary.

At the end of that first month of Sarah's success, the Artistic Director from the Paris Opera Ballet approached her and offered her an enormous sum to move to France and dance with his company. Sarah was tempted until she remembered that she could not speak a word of French but also knew no-one in France. At least in London she had Mrs Laidley and Dr Watson to go to in any trouble.

The ballet world in Europe was obviously a small one, Sarah found. No sooner had the Paris Opera Ballet approached Sarah than her own Artistic Director, Vladimir, made a counter offer that topped it considerably. Sarah didn't have the heart (nor was she silly enough) to tell him she had already turned the French down.

"We are moving to a bigger theatre!" Vladimir said excitably. He said everything excitably and passionately. There were times Sarah could not tell the difference between the Russians and the French but that was probably due to having spent most of her life in Australia.

"People are demanding tickets to see you and we cannot fit them into the theatre," he continued volubly. "I am leasing a bigger theatre."

"Which one?" Sarah asked with interest.

"Covent Garden," he said, his dark eyes shining with anticipation.

Goose bumps broke out on Sarah's skin. All her life she had dreamed of dancing at Covent Garden. Now that dream was happening. In some ways, Covent Garden was less convenient being a few extra blocks from her new Oxford Street home but she decided it wasn't a problematic distance as everything in London was comparatively close and she could now certainly afford to take as many cabs as she wished.

"We can change the choreography to be far more athletic on that larger stage," Sarah said, enthusiastically. She had been to Covent Garden out of curiousity at least once in her free time since being in London and she knew the far larger size of the stage.

Vladimir stared at her. "You could do more with a larger stage?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Of course! I could do far bigger jumps and much more complex traveling enchainments," Sarah replied with satisfaction, "When do we start rehearsing there?"

"Next month. We can start selling tickets for the shows now," he said with evident gratification, "We will be able to make a great deal more money per show with so many extra seats to sell. I may put the prices up for the ones you appear in too."

"I hope people will continue to attend then," Sarah said wryly.

"People visiting from across the Channel are making a point of coming to see you already," Vladimir said confidently, "Soon people from all over Europe will be eager to come and see you perform when they are in London."

"No point touring then," Sarah said a bit cheekily.

"We will tour within a year," Vladimir said, "But we must have repertoire ready first."

Sarah nodded. She could foresee exciting times ahead.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N – Thank you to the kind people who have left constructive criticism and thoughtful feedback, it is much appreciated. I think upcoming chapters may address some of your concerns. My perspective is that Sarah's main motivation at present is survival in a strange environment, so she is doing everything in her power to blend in to Victorian England. The demanding life of a ballerina also does not leave her much spare time for investigating or speculating on her strange circumstances. As chapter 11 is a necessary bridging chapter, I have uploaded 2 chapters this time, so readers can spend a bit more time with Holmes.

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _Everything you have said makes good sense, and no one can argue with it._

Judith 8:27-29

Sarah found that month was exhausting. Not only was she performing four times a week and still attending class and rehearsal but she was also learning new ballets. At the same time, she was adhering to her own strict schedule of extra classes in her rooms. In the end, she got permission from Vladimir not to attend company class so she could do her more advanced exercises in her rooms in the morning rather than trying to fit them in at night. Sarah's argument that she could not keep up her standard without that extra time was enough to convince Vladimir. As long as Sarah kept producing the goods and attracting the audiences, he cared very little what else she did.

It put distance between Sarah and the other ballet girls again, when they saw the privileges she enjoyed. Some of them tried to copy Sarah's technique and failed because they did not know the foundational exercises that needed to be done each day to give their body the strength and flexibility to do the more difficult steps. Also, the steps needed to be taught carefully. Each dancer needed to be shown how to use muscle groups and weight distribution and the little tricks of each of these more advanced steps. Without this guidance, these girls could not hope to master Sarah's technique.

She finally received the pointe shoes from Italy. In the age of ships and steam, importing goods seemed to take a very long time. Sarah immediately put in another order. With the amount of performing she was doing, she would need a steady supply of shoes.

The Italian shoes made an enormous difference to the ease of certain steps for Sarah. Russian ballerinas tended to jump onto their pointe, rather than smoothly rising onto pointe through the demi pointe. It took flexible shoes to do the latter and it allowed greater control and balance for the dancer. It made turning on pointe easier and made light landings possible. Also, the Italian shoes were the first to have a blunt platform at the toe, again making balance easier.

Sarah carefully darned the toes of several pairs in her rare time off but kept them only for performance. She stuck with the stiff, uncomfortable English shoes for class and rehearsal. Italian shoes were not easy to obtain and she didn't want to use them for common wear.

She carefully strapped her feet each day to prevent blisters. She had consulted Dr Watson about the best strapping to use quite early and he had been at a bit of a loss until she had suggested that the kind of strapping boxers used on their hands might be suitable. He had been quite enthusiastic and shown her what to get, where to find it and also some good lotions to use on sore muscles. They had both received a few strange looks in the stores that supplied "gentlemen's sporting equipment" until Watson explained and Sarah brought large quantities of strapping. Again, Dr Watson had refused payment, so she sent him a huge box of his favourite cigars instead.

The company's debut at Covent Garden was a huge success. The company had just introduced _La Bayadere_ into the company's repertoire for this season and Vladimir had allowed Sarah to adapt the choreography to take advantage of the much larger stage and the full range of her modern technique. It simply meant she could travel further across the stage when she jumped or did traveling steps. It felt remarkably freer to Sarah.

The opening night was such a success that Sarah could not leave the stage for a full hour after the curtain went down after Act Four. Bouquets littered the stage and as fast as the stage hands could gather them, the stage filled again.

Sarah was tired and very glad to get back to her dressing room. She had sent tickets to Mrs Laidley, Watson and Holmes this time, not wanting them to outlay on tickets if they were interested in attending. They were waiting in Sarah's dressing room with congratulations and a cold bottle of champagne which they opened immediately.

Holmes examined Sarah impassively over his crystal wine glass, thoughtfully provided by the theatre. "You didn't learn to dance like that in any ballet school in England," he said flatly.

"I'm afraid I did," Sarah laughed, the champagne having gone to her head a bit. She didn't care about Holmes' frigid tactics that night. She was so tired that she felt giddy.

"There is no other dancer on the Continent who can perform the acrobatics that you do," Holmes persisted, "I can only think that you have had training other than traditional ballet training. For instance, I can box using the Queensbury rules but in extremity, I am also trained in Judo and Baritsu and could incorporate these moves into a fight for my life if need be."

"You're asking me if I have learned gymnastics or something similar as well?" Sarah asked, thinking it an interesting theory. After all, the best ballet dancers from her own time started as gymnasts, she thought.

"Something like that," he drawled.

"No," she replied, "But I will say that the kind of training I had incorporated a similar kind of training to that gymnasts undertake. For instance, I do very specific exercises to loosen certain muscle groups that will make some ballet steps easier to perform and look more spectacular. I also do other exercises that strengthen certain muscle groups for the same reason. Most dancers you see only do the more traditional exercises which only give them a more limited ability to perform the steps you see," Sarah explained, hoping it was clear.

"And you learned these special extra exercises from your ballet master in England?" Holmes asked with undisguised disbelief.

"And from the other girls in my ballet classes, yes," Sarah said with a smile, being deliberately annoying. _Why should Holmes get to be the only exasperating one_ , she thought?

"If that is the case, Kent must lead the world in the art of ballet and yet, I have never heard of any famous dancer coming from there," Holmes argued cleverly.

"Mr Holmes, just as world records in sport are constantly being broken, so the art form of ballet advances as well. The dancing that I can do, all professional dancers can do where I come from," Sarah explained.

Holmes' lean mouth tightened. It was obvious to Sarah that he wanted explanations that did not involve time travel, but Sarah was not able to offer those to him.

Dr Watson tactfully changed the subject to remark on the magnificence of the theatre.

Since Sarah's debut, she had received a great many invitations to visit very distinguished people for weekends in the country (impossible with her performing schedule) or for dinner (her precious free evenings were strictly for rest) or for various parties and jaunts. Vladimir wished Sarah to cultivate some of these acquaintances as some of these families were well-known patrons of the arts. This produced a conundrum for Sarah. She had no idea of the manners and social graces required for this kind of society. She could not even do a simple social dance like a waltz, let alone figure out which heavy silver cutlery to use at a formal meal.

Sarah solved this problem by only accepting invitations for morning or afternoon tea. Word seemed to get around fairly quickly that due to performing and rehearsal commitments, she was only free for this fairly danger-free kind of visit.

The first family that Vladimir insisted Sarah accept an invitation from was the Waverleys. They had a lovely and very large house in Kensington, a very fashionable district. She accepted an invitation for afternoon tea which she was to attend between their usual rehearsal and the evening performance which they had already booked tickets for. Sarah wore her best dress which had a lovely white chiffon overlay with tiny purple flowers embroidered on it with matching pale purple gloves. It was not particularly fashionable but Sarah had never been a particularly fashionable person. It would turn out that anything she wore to these little soirees would soon become fashion anyway, so she felt that it was fortunate that she hadn't worried about it.

The whole family was there including all five sons and two daughters, and sundry aunts and grandparents. It was fortunate that Sarah had taken Dr Watson's previous advice to ensure she had a believable story to tell. In order to forestall any awkwardness, Sarah replied to any questions regarding her background by simply saying that she had traveled a great deal while growing up with an Aunt who had recently died which explained both her accent and her lack of roots. It also waylaid the question of Sarah's training as she simply said she had trained in many schools all over the world and thus picked up her technique in several places.

After the very lovely afternoon tea, she was shown over their grounds which were not extensive being in the heart of London (in fact, having any kind of garden was quite extraordinary in London, Sarah had long since found out). It very pretty and well-kept despite its size. At one point the family seemed to melt away either inside or to the other side of the lawn and Sarah was left with the second eldest son who would have been around her age. He had been staring fixedly at Sarah throughout tea and it was only the presence of so many others that had prevented her becoming discomforted. He was handsome enough in the style of the day – slim and elegant with a neat moustache and carefully brushed hair. He had large, black eyes and a wave to his dark hair. Sarah was sure he had many admirers of the fair sex.

"I must be one of your greatest fans," he said earnestly as they examined the small croquet lawn.

"That's very kind of you to say so," Sarah replied with a smile. She was learning how to handle copious and overdone compliments with grace. It was a learned skill.

"I've been to as many of your performances as I could get tickets to," he confessed, a trifle hesitantly.

That surprised Sarah. Why go and see a ballet more than once?

"I asked my parents particularly to invite you here so I could speak with you," he continued deferentially.

"Oh," Sarah said, feeling more and more foolish by the minute. What was one supposed to say to all this, she wondered?

"I know you don't know me very well. Well, I suppose not at all really," he said, clearly getting flustered which was really quite painful for Sarah to witness in a man of his age, "But I was hoping you would consent to allowing me to court you."

Sarah frankly stared at him. _Surely men only spoke like this in novels_ , she thought? _Surely there was no man on earth who had ever_ really _spoken thus?_ He must have seen the expression on her face.

"You don't have a guardian I could ask first, you see," he said awkwardly, "But I made sure my family was nearby so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable."

Sarah suddenly relaxed. She could see that this man was obviously sweet and harmless. He deserved a nice wife, not a ballet girl.

"I can see you're a good, kind man," Sarah said truthfully, "And a good, kind man from a first-rate family deserves a sweet, well-bred girl from another good quality family. A ballet girl can bring you nothing but rumour-mongering, gossip and possibly outright disgrace. We both know that."

He looked at Sarah with distraught eyes. "It wouldn't be like that," he protested, "I would do nothing to tarnish your reputation. I would ensure that. There would always be chaperones and nothing would be hidden or underhanded."

Suddenly Sarah felt tears prick her eyes. It was a rare thing in her life to meet a man who thought about things from another's point of view and acted considerately.

"You could do all of that and you could even marry me one day but you would still be disgracing your family's illustrious name. I'm nobody and I have no family, good or otherwise. I've made my livelihood on the stage which is not reputable. You have a future as a leader within this nation. A ballet girl on your arm, even as a wife, would be a disgrace to you. People would laugh at you behind your back. It would shut certain doors to you. Certain people would refuse to have you in their social circle any longer. One day, you may not only regret it but come to despise me and be ashamed of me as well. That is not something I want for you or for me," Sarah said as gently as she could.

The handsome young Waverley stared at her for a long time, seemingly unable to say anything. He wanted to argue but he knew she was right.

"Your character is as flawless as your dancing," he finally said, after swallowing hard.

"Thank you, that is a compliment worth having," Sarah replied with a small smile.

"Shall we go in? The sun is too warm for your complexion at this time of the afternoon," he said quietly, offering Sarah his arm.

It was only when Sarah took it, that she realized the young man was trembling finely.

Young Waverley would become a friend to Sarah worth having over time. His family welcomed her gratefully after they realised that she was not about to impose herself where she had no right. They would not have stood in the way of their son's happiness nor resented Sarah but they knew as well as Sarah did that an alliance with a ballet girl would cause him many problems. Soon enough, Waverley was to meet a very pretty redheaded woman from a family the equal of his own and settle down happily with her. Sarah would come to like her very much and visit their home when she could between tours and seasons. She would one day confide in Sarah that Waverley had told her of their conversation in the garden of his family home. For some reason, she was grateful to Sarah. Sarah was just thankful that they were both happy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _Why has your heart carried you away, and why do your eyes flash, so that you vent your rage against God and pour out such words from your mouth?_

 _Job 15:12-13_

There was a witness to that conversation in the garden, an inconspicuous gardener working on the flower beds near one wall. Holmes had cleverly disguised himself and had a gift for blending into his environment and not drawing attention to himself; almost a talent for being invisible.

Once back at Baker Street late that afternoon, he contemplated the new information now at his disposal. He had been very surprised, quite displeased and definitely disappointed that Sarah had even accepted the invitation when she had turned down so many, until his own researches turned up that the Waverleys were financial supporters of the arts and his irregulars reported that Vladimir had made her accept. The pieces then fell into place and his original impressions of Sarah were restored, if not confirmed as yet.

Holmes had overheard the entire conversation in the garden with a growing and inevitable and inescapable sense of desolation. He was sure that Sarah was about to find herself not only her first real suitor but an extraordinarily good one. As it was, he was astonished and profoundly relieved instead. Why would she think of this privileged man's interests ahead of her own? She had far more to gain from the alliance than Waverley had to lose. Even the family was not interfering. In fact, they were helping, if anything. Yet, she had turned him down. She had done it kindly and sensibly and gently too. Her arguments had been sound. She knew her place in the world and she knew she would be imposing on this family to accept his suit.

Although Sarah claimed to come from a distant time and place, she had a very good grasp on where she fitted into the strict social structures of England. She knew her fame allowed her access to Britain's first families. In fact, in time it would give her access to first families all over the Continent and probably royalty one day too, he predicted. At the same time, she knew her place. She would have access but she would never be one of them. Not even a wedding ring would make her really one of them. Still, most women would not think that far ahead or even care as long as they had the appearance and privileges of being one of 'them'.

Holmes felt restless and he threw his pipe onto the mantel. He did not have enough information still and so his brain was rattling along the track of the mystery of Sarah without enough data to feed the engine. It was burning him out. He unfolded his tall, spare frame from the chair and threw on his cape. Sarah should be back from her evening performance by now.

He walked to Sarah's flat in Oxford Street. It was only a few of blocks away from Baker Street. To his surprise, she was sitting at her window at this late hour. He supposed it would be hard for a dancer to recover from the adrenalin rush of performing until quite late at night. It might explain why so many of the theatre crowd went out to the local pubs after a performance. It may be a way of winding down or running through the last of the adrenalin.

He ducked into the shadows when he saw her face at the window. He did not want Sarah to realise how closely or how often he was tailing her. It may cause her to change her habits deliberately if she was trying to keep secrets from him and Watson.

She was obviously in her dressing gown and was leaning her face against the cold glass, looking out into the street without really seeing anything.

It struck Holmes that she looked both depressed and lonely. He couldn't understand why she would need to feel either. She was a celebrated ballerina. She could gain entrée into any social circle in Britain at the moment. There was no need for her to be at home alone and depressed.

Unless she chose to be but why would she choose that?

He glanced up at the window again to find that Sarah had gone and the window pane was dark behind the now drawn curtains. Sarah never stayed up late. He stretched himself after standing still for so long then he walked the short distance to the Diogenes Club. It was still early enough that Mycroft may be lingering over his after dinner port.

"A ballerina did you say, Sherlock?" Mycroft said with a mixture of mystification and disbelief, "but why should you care about the origins of some ballet girl?"

"Because of the way she arrived in London, Mycroft," Holmes replied impatiently and went on to describe every detail, down to the contents of Sarah's backpack, the 'odd' clothes, short haircut, accent and mysterious 'iPod'. "She says she has no memory of how she came to be on the shores of the Duke's lake."

"Well, the girl is lying of course. Why should you care?" Mycroft said dismissively with an edge of impatience. He tired of trifles easily, somewhat like his brother.

"I don't know if she is," Holmes replied, irritated with his brother, "What would be the advantage to her? She is a distant relation of the Duke, but refused to make this known to him. She has never returned to his estate. She is earning a very hard living and is not asking for anything from anyone," he added, pointing his pipe at his brother for emphasis.

Mycroft tilted his head to one side and examined his younger, more energetic brother silently for a few moments. His pale, almost colourless eyes were speculative.

"It sounds like this young woman has somewhat earned your respect Sherlock," Mycroft said with a glimmer of interest, "not an easy thing to do. That fact on its own makes her interesting."

Holmes was a bit shocked at Mycroft's observation. Had he given himself away so easily or was it just because Mycroft knew him so well?

"Yes, Miss Mounteney is resourceful, practical, has a great deal of common sense and learns quickly," Sherlock acknowledged smoothly, deliberately casual. "You know something else odd? She turned down an actual proposal of marriage from young Waverley," he added.

"Turned it down, you say? Why would the girl do that? What are the chances that another opportunity for a lifetime of security will come her way again?" Mycroft said, his massive forehead crinkling in confusion.

"I'm not entirely sure, Mycroft. You know the motives of women are so inscrutable! Who can work with such unreliable data?" Holmes said, his incisive voice sharp with frustration, his heavy brows drawn together. "She said she didn't want to ruin his opportunities in life by tying him to a ballet girl which shows both good insight into society and a large degree of unselfishness, but why be unselfish? She owes this Waverley nothing. Does she want to live this hard life? And it is a hard life, Mycroft. The hours she works and what she puts her delicate frame through is horrendous," Holmes said, shaking his head in confusion.

"You can't talk about the hours other people work when you do little else yourself, Sherlock," Mycroft said wryly.

"But I have to work, Miss Mounteney could have given it away and lived a luxurious life," Holmes said with a shrug.

"Maybe she didn't like the fellow although I don't know why she wouldn't. He's a polite, handsome and promising young man from what I understand," Mycroft said.

"No, I don't believe Waverley was at fault in any way," Holmes replied broodingly, refilling his pipe.

"Hmmm… Well, I don't think I can offer you any greater insights than your own investigations have produced. I know you like puzzles for their own sake but the origins of a ballet girl hardly affects the state of the nation," Mycroft said dryly.

"No, but I mean to solve it nonetheless," Holmes said leaning back and puffing comfortably on his pipe and then went on to describe the recently solved case of the speckled band to his brother.

Sarah found herself getting quite adept at avoiding young men who wished get her on her own to make propositions of all kinds. It was almost always at the teas she was invited to in the homes of wealthy patrons of the arts. Vladimir put a lot of pressure on her to attend them, but it was becoming a problem. She learned not to venture too far into the small gardens of large homes and how to make excuses to avoid strolls in conservatories with a young, male escort. If left alone in a room with a young man, she learned how to control the conversation by asking endless questions about the family or the antiques in the room or the personal hobbies of her companion. If the young men were both persistent and insensitive (which unfortunately was more often than not the case), she simply pleaded that she was so occupied with her dancing as to leave no time for anything else including the attentions of any young man. If she sounded regretful enough, she would sometimes get away with it. On several occasions, she had to get very frosty and lecture the young man concerned on his loose morals and presumption. There were days she went back to the theatre feeling very dispirited and depressed at being treated like little better than a 'high class' harlot, if that was not a complete contradiction in terms.

The final straw for Sarah came one afternoon at yet another tedious afternoon tea with a family called the Highburys. The young Duke, who was repulsive in both looks and manners, managed to corner Sarah in the music room and be particularly insulting.

He bluntly proposed to pay Sarah a stipend to be his mistress and didn't bother dressing up his language in making the suggestion. When Sarah protested with arctic coldness he had indignantly and rudely replied that "someone in your situation should be grateful for the attentions". Sarah responded, "If I am so far beneath you then perhaps you should turn your attentions to someone of your own class," and stormed out of the music room and the house without another word leaving Highbury sputtering behind her and the rest of the family in a state of confusion.

That same night, Sarah was at home practicing in a small, bare room that she used as a studio. It contained nothing but a barre, a roisin box, a wooden chair, a small sewing basket and a plain brick fireplace.

Suddenly all the months of insinuations, innuendoes, propositions and domineering behaviour suddenly piled on top of her.

Sarah didn't understand why she should feel grateful to be treated like a lower class of being and why she should want to give up her freedom for a life of degradation.

Like a tide, Sarah could feel anger that had been building for a long time sweep over her. Red washed over her vision. She kicked over the chair and sewing basket. Then she picked up the fireplace poker and gave the bricks a thorough smashing.

Sarah spotted her large sewing scissors sticking out of the basket and grabbed them. She pulled the pins out of her hair. If being pretty and desirable made men treat her like a piece of trash, perhaps it was better to be considered 'ugly', she thought. Cutting her hair off again would do the trick. Sarah grabbed a thick lock and was just about to hack off a few inches at chin length when her arm was grabbed in an iron grip and her hand pulled away from her head.

It gave Sarah a bad fright until she saw it was only Holmes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked angrily, "and let go of my arm!" she added, trying to tug it away from him. Sarah was so furious, she had to fight the impulse to turn on him. She had been in blind rages before and knew they were dangerous.

"Calm down, Miss Mounteney," he said unperturbedly, "you do seem to be in a state. What is the matter?"

Holmes sounded icily calm, but his heart was pounding. Sarah was in such a fury, he wasn't even sure she could see him. Her eyes looked sightless, like she was looking at something not in the room. Her eyes had changed colour in her passion too. Usually quite dark, they shone a bright green.

Not only was her violent mood deeply unnerving, but it was the first time Holmes had been this close to Sarah since their first meeting at Baker Street when he had examined her short hair and odd clothing. Now her dark, thick hair had grown and was as glorious as he had predicted it would be. They were standing so close that as she tried to tug her arm away from him, her hair brushed like silk against his hand and face leaving a faint scent of roses behind. A prickle of pleasure skittered across his skin where it touched, distracting him momentarily. The bones of her wrist felt as fragile as a bird's in his hand and he felt a sudden fear of actually hurting her inadvertently. He realised he was holding his breath and slowly let it out.

Sarah soon brought him back to reality.

"It's none of your business. Why are you here?" Sarah demanded ferociously.

"I dropped by to ask you something and when your landlady let me in and I heard the unholy racket, I thought there was a fight going on in here," he replied composedly, his heart still racing.

"Didn't I tell you to let go of me?" Sarah said, glaring at him through strands of her hair.

Holmes had not seen Sarah with her hair down since it had grown. Women always wore their hair up and half hidden by a hat. With her face framed by her dark hair, Sarah looked softer and even more feminine than usual. She looked younger and vulnerable. Holmes felt an absurd desire to protect her – clearly absurd as she was currently in a dangerous temper.

"Not until I'm sure you're calm," Holmes said implacably.

That's when Sarah kicked him in the ankle. He let go of her then and gasped in shock or pain, Sarah wasn't sure which. She didn't much care either.

"Bloody men! I'm sick of the lot of you," Sarah said with feeling and sat on the floor in front of the fireplace with her back to him.

 _There was nothing like sudden pain for clearing the head_ , Holmes thought wryly. He had let his senses and his attraction to Sarah distract and disorient him. He needed to refocus. There was silence for quite a time while Holmes tried to figure out a strategy for the situation. For the first time in his life, he was at a total loss. He felt perplexed by her outburst and distracted by his reaction to her earlier proximity. In the end, he decided that sympathy would be the most helpful.

"Why don't you tell me what is troubling you?" he finally said in soothing tones.

"No," Sarah replied flatly. She wasn't fooled. She knew perfectly well that Holmes was only looking for more 'data' to solve his mystery. He was not genuinely concerned, it was merely a tactic.

Holmes gave a quick, impatient sigh. He hadn't really expected the first attempt to work anyway. She was too worked up. He walked around to face her.

"It might help in some way," he said with utterly delightful empathy.

Even as Sarah turned her back on him and glared into space, she reflected that what Watson had written in his stories was quite true. Holmes could be disarmingly charming and understanding when he chose to be. The problem was that Sarah knew it was an act and knew it was fundamentally manipulative. It just made her angrier. Why couldn't Holmes just be genuine for once? Why couldn't his sympathy and caring be sincere? Sarah bit her lip hard. If she believed that the way Holmes was behaving had any authenticity at all, she would find it hard not to confide everything. Sarah hardened her heart, however. She knew Holmes' tactics and she knew the coldness, calculation and self-interest that dictated his every move.

"You're being rather rude," Holmes observed, deliberately keeping his voice mild even while frustration clawed at his brain.

"What is your point? You're rude whenever you feel like it," Sarah replied bluntly. She thought it would serve him right to have a taste of his own nasty medicine for once. She almost smiled to herself when silence greeted this irrefutable truth.

Holmes suddenly realised with a sickening feeling that no amount of charm and sensitivity was going to undo the damage that all his previous coldness and suspicion had wrought. He had insulted her even more than he had either appreciated or intended. It was obvious that he was not going to be forgiven. She was not going to turn to him in any kind of trouble. The knowledge was sharply painful but he had no-one to blame but himself.

"I can see that you do not wish to discuss whatever is troubling you, Miss Mounteney," Holmes said. He did not mean to, but his voice suddenly cooled as consciousness of the distance between them sunk in.

"Well spotted," Sarah muttered sarcastically.

Holmes would have winced, if he had not been standing right in front of her at the time. Instead, his face froze into a mask.

"I apologise for bursting in on you unannounced just now. I will visit at another, more opportune time," he said stiffly and left as swiftly as he decently could.

After he had gone, Sarah burst into tears, but she really had no idea why.

Sarah never did find her sewing scissors. She had to buy another pair the next day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _I will_ _fight_ _against all your enemies._

Exodus 23:21-23

It took Holmes the entire walk back to Baker Street to feel calm enough to face Watson. It was discussed over tobacco and port at length.

"I hoped never to hear myself say this Watson but that young woman needs a protector. I happen to know for a fact that young Highbury cornered Sarah at an afternoon tea at the family home and propositioned to set her up in her own home if she gave up dancing and devoted all her time to him," Holmes said, emptying his pipe by tapping it on the mantel.

Dr Watson's face changed colour to puce. "That blaggard! Just wait until the next time I see him! I'll leave him with a flea in his ear," he sputtered.

"Yes, it was quite disgraceful," Holmes agreed impassively, "Particularly as Miss Mounteney was obviously doing her best to avoid and discourage him."

"How do you know all this?" Watson asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I posed as a delivery man and then hung around the stables for a bit. Standing under a low window, I caught most of it," Holmes said nonchalantly, "I must say, Watson, she is quite capable of taking care of herself. You don't need to put a flea in young Highbury's ear. Miss Mounteney did quite a good job of it herself. Like all spoilt young men, he got angry and petulant rather than ashamed of his own bad behaviour."

"It's a disgrace!" Watson muttered.

"I have to say that young woman has a temper," Holmes added. "I went round to see her early this evening pretending there was something I had to ask her. I was rather worried after the Highbury incident. She was in an utter rage over something but I never did find out what. Furniture was flying and the fireplace brickwork got a terrible beating with the poker."

Watson's eyes grew round.

"She was just about to cut off her hair, but I managed to stop her," Holmes added thoughtfully.

"How?" Watson asked, amazed.

"I stole this," Holmes said with a thin smile, looking pleased with himself, pulling the scissors out of his inner coat pocket.

Watson stared at the scissors and Holmes in disbelief.

"Why would she want to cut off her hair again? It's only just starting to get long," Watson pondered.

"Maybe she thinks that if men hate short hair and think she looks ugly, they will stop propositioning her," Holmes said astutely.

"Would she really go to such lengths to avoid men like Highbury?" Watson asked incredulously, "Besides, it would take far more than short hair to ever make Miss Mounteney ugly," he added with a benign smile. Despite now seeing Miranda, he still had a soft spot for Sarah.

"Yes, yes, Watson. I'm well aware of your schoolboy crush on Miss Mounteney," Holmes said testily. Holmes particularly hated being reminded of Watson's glassy-eyed appreciation of Sarah. It cut too close to his own feelings which still deeply confused and plagued him. He did not want to believe he was so shallow as to just have a silly infatuation, so Watson's sentimental admiration deeply irritated him.

"Did she say what was wrong?" Watson asked, diplomatically changing the subject. He knew the subject of Sarah could be a touchy one, he was just never quite sure why.

"No, she wouldn't talk to me about it at all," Holmes said shortly, his lips tightening as he remembered his complete failure to get her to talk to him.

He was reluctant to mention the bruise now forming on his ankle. It served him right, he supposed. He should have let her go when she said to. It was typical of Sarah to get past his guard when professional boxers found it difficult. Then again, he hadn't exactly been expecting it.

"I am more worried about when Miss Mounteney tours on the Continent. Although our young men are not showing themselves gentlemen, none of them have actually tried to physically molest her. I could not have the same hopes for the young men in certain other parts of the Continent," Holmes said, lighting a freshly filled pipe.

"Who would you trust to protect her?" Watson asked curiously.

"I have my contacts, Watson. I believe Miss Mounteney has a good deal of common sense and is unlikely to put herself in a position where she could be compromised or in danger. On the other hand, a young woman without a protector traveling on the Continent is simply not safe and that is a fact. I will have my contacts looking out for her," Holmes said, his lids half closing over his grey eyes as he sat back in his chair.

With that, Watson had to be satisfied.

The incident at Sarah's home gave Holmes much to ponder. He had learned several vital things about her during that evening.

Firstly, she had a passionate and potentially violent temper. He found this quite extraordinary. He had never seen any woman in such a rage in his life before. His own mother had a depressive personality and there was something vacant in her, some life force missing. The same could not be said of Sarah.

The young women he had known at University were polite, compliant, gentle and well-behaved. Any malice came out indirectly, through manipulation and a certain under-handedness. He supposed that they were not allowed the more direct aggression of men and were only left the more passive and poisonous variety. Having suffered from this subtle malice on numerous occasions in his unsuspecting youth, he had a particular distaste for it.

He had no doubt that if he annoyed Sarah sufficiently again, he would earn another kick. He considered that this was straight forward enough. On the whole, he preferred this more direct method. At least he knew where he stood.

Secondly, he had learned that she would rather be ugly than treated insultingly by rich young men. Other women may not have found Highbury's behaviour insulting and instead, turned it their material advantage. That Sarah did find it insulting showed a high-mindedness that most women in Sarah's position could not really afford.

Thirdly, he had found out that Sarah had no inclination whatsoever to confide in him. He had been brought up as a gentleman and knew how to treat women with courtesy, respect and sympathy. However, it cut no ice with Sarah. He had never been so effectively stonewalled in his life, not even by the greatest of the criminal classes. He knew he deserved it and that just made it worse. It had hurt to be so thoroughly snubbed, particularly when he was trying to be sensitive. Her rejection of his attempt at understanding had cut deep. He wondered if the now obvious breach between them could now be bridged and if he would get the opportunity to try. After all, she was one of his cases, not really a friend. He was no longer afraid of making a fool of himself in her company, he was now more afraid that she would hate him for his insulting behaviour forever.

Lastly, he discovered that Sarah thought he was rude a great deal of the time. It was true that he could be rude upon occasion but he could be gallant and chivalrous as well, he thought a trifle sulkily.

He had left Sarah's house wishing he had never made the decision to check on her. He felt his actions had been somehow misunderstood or misinterpreted. He decided that it may be wise to keep his distance for the time being.

Sarah began refusing more and more invitations, particularly to those homes where she had been subjected to particularly insulting insinuations and suggestions from the young man of the house. As it was taken as a charming artistic eccentricity, she was forgiven much. Vladimir was not happy, but he was more afraid of losing Sarah to another company, so he stopped pressing her about it.

Sarah did not tour until half way through her second year in London. Although she made a name for herself from the night of her debut, news (and reputations) took longer to travel in 1883 than in 2012. Vladimir used Sarah's drawing power and the far greater (and more expensive) ticket sales to fund the tour, including promoting it many months ahead of time. Sarah was learning the role of Sylvia in the ballet of the same name. It was a silly plot but then again, most ballet plots were silly, Sarah thought. It was a virtuoso role that she could once again adapt to incorporate her advanced technique to impress audiences. The other ballet she was learning was Camargo. Sarah took the title role of Marie Camargo. The thing Sarah found intriguing about this ballet was that although the plot was rather melodramatic (kidnappings by Comtes and other sordid things) it was based on a true story from the life of the real dancer by this name. Sarah rather liked the ending when Marie decided to devote her life to dance. Of course, the company would also have La Bayadere and Le Papillon on the bill.

Vladimir was keen to keep extending Sarah's repertoire and had already decided that during the tour, she was to learn the part of Coppelia from the ballet of the same name and Kitri from Don Quixote for the next London season. She was particularly pleased by the latter because she already knew some of the more spectacular modern choreography including fouettes, grand jetes with the kickback and extravagant pirouette pique. It would make the audiences of the late nineteenth centuary's eyes pop out, Sarah predicted.

So, as it was, Sarah was very busy not only with class and rehearsing and performing the current ballets but also learning the roles of Sylvia and Marie Camargo. In her rare time off, she went to the free library to do some research on Marie Camargo. Having been a real person, Sarah wanted to understand Carmargo before she tried to act her part. Sarah was pleased when she found out that Carmargo was described as an intelligent performer, an innovator and very quick on her feet. Sarah thought it would be galling to have to play a bimbo. All in all, she was pleased and absorbed with her career.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: This story will follow the timeline of Holmes' career until just after the Reichenbach Falls incident. According to Canon, Holmes worked on many cases other than the ones Watson recorded, so we can assume he was generally fairly busy. The incidents in this story where Holmes is shadowing Sarah are sometimes separated by weeks or months while he is focused on his work (and he still sees Sarah as one of his 'cases' despite acknowledging his feelings about her). That is also why this story takes place over a long period of time._

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 _You must purge the evil from among you._

 _Deuteronomy 13:5_

During the preparation for the tour, Holmes was still keeping an eye on Sarah's movements. He was still convinced he would one day find a clue as to her origin and what her motivations were, but more importantly, he was concerned about protecting her from men even worse than the likes of Highbury.

It was during this time that Holmes overhead a conversation that he found deeply disturbing and was to change the course of his life. He was at the theatre in his stage hand disguise and was eavesdropping on a conversation Sarah was having with one of the senior Coryphees.

"I saw the Earl of Leicester again last night," the attractive, chestnut haired woman was saying to Sarah. Her name was Emily.

Sarah smiled politely as she repaired a ribbon on her shoe.

"He gave me this," Emily said, showing Sarah a simple silver chain around her wrist.

For a woman like Emily, it was a significant present. Only the upper classes had any kind of jewelry. However, Sarah's more educated eye knew it would not have cost the Earl very much and goodness only knows what it had cost Emily.

"It's very pretty," Sarah lied kindly.

Emily crept closer and lowered her voice confidingly.

"He gave me this special stuff that made me feel really, really good," she confessed, her brown eyes wide.

Sarah suddenly glanced at her keenly.

"Oh, what was that?" she asked casually.

"I don't really know. He mixed up some white powder and then put it in my arm with a needle, like a doctor. He had some too. He said all his friends do it. I never felt like that in my life, Sarah. I felt like… like I could do anything or be anyone. I felt like… maybe I could even dance like you for a while there. My head felt so clear and I felt so light. It wore off after a couple of hours and then I felt horrible for a while," Emily said, her appealing face confused.

"Did he call it cocaine?" Sarah asked gently.

Emily's face lit up. "Cocaine, that was it! I knew you'd know. You're so smart, Sarah. You always seem to know everything," she said sincerely.

The hair on Sarah's arms stood on end and suddenly she felt very, very angry. If it wasn't bad enough to have to sit by and watch someone she admired like Holmes stubbornly destroy himself, now it was infecting her fellow dancers. She was livid with the unending selfishness of certain voracious men who stalked these young women and tried to steal their futures.

"Emily, I want you to listen to me very closely," Sarah said in a low, deadly serious voice, "The Earl is hurting you by giving you cocaine. If he accidentally gives you too much one time, which is very easy to do, you could die of a heart attack or stroke almost instantly. Cocaine is also very addictive. That means the more often you have it, the more you will want it and the more you will have to take to get that some wonderful feeling you're talking about. The Earl is the only person you know who can get you cocaine. In the end, you will end up being his slave, just to be able to get it. The Earl is being very, very evil giving it to you. He is hurting you."

Emily looked frightened. Sarah was so serious and the things she was saying genuinely terrified her.

"But the Earl has been so nice to me," Emily said, her attractive face twisted in confusion.

"The Earl is addicted to cocaine himself," Sarah said flatly, "Let me tell you something about cocaine addicts. Their priorities are cocaine first, second and third. You will always come a long way behind cocaine in the Earl's priorities. The day would come where he would sell you to get his hands on the drug if that's what he had to do. The drug rules their life and is their master. They are cocaine's helpless slave. No-one, with any common sense or self-preservation, ever gets themselves involved with any kind of drug addict," Sarah said with deadly earnest.

Emily was silent, her face a picture of horror.

"What do I do?" she whispered.

"Just stay away from him. Tell him you're seeing someone else. I imagine there are other men who are interested in you?" Sarah said with a kind smile.

Emily nodded shyly. "Yes, there's another man. He's not an Earl but he's very nice. He's a solicitor," she confided.

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

"You'll start seeing the nice solicitor and forget about the Earl, then?" Sarah said encouragingly.

Emily nodded happily. "Thanks for your advice, I feel better now. I was worried, to be honest."

Holmes did not feel better. Holmes felt so sick he had to leave the theatre and go back to Baker Street. He knew what Sarah said was true even if he detested having the drug described as his master. He had seen his own usage of the drug increase year on year since he first tried it in university. He had tried to pretend to Watson that it wasn't a big deal but Watson hadn't been fooled. He was a doctor and he hated seeing Holmes take the stuff.

Oddly enough, it seemed Sarah had a more thorough knowledge of the potential dangers of cocaine than Watson, who was trained. Could he really have died of a heart attack or stroke if he had accidentally gotten the dose wrong? Would the addiction really increase to the point that nothing else would matter and he would become completely craven? His skin went cold at the thought. If there was one thing Holmes needed, it was to feel in control even if that feeling was only an illusion. The thought of losing all control made his skin crawl with horror.

He knew his desperate desire for control came from growing up in a situation where he had no control. He had not been able to control when his father would turn violent and cruel. He had not been able to control the empty, dead look in his mother's eyes. He had not been able to control his peers bullying him, until he had learned to fight. He had not been able to control the family fortune being lost, the subsequent disgrace and being suddenly poor. He had not been able to control the abuse, the rejection, the cruelty or the circumstances of his early life. As a man, he was resolute about controlling as much as he could. He was determined to break his own universe down into its composite parts and analyse it until he knew how it worked and could control every aspect of it. He was particularly determined to be in control of himself and his own life yet here he was, a slave to cocaine, as Sarah had said.

Worst of all, Holmes thought as he flung his disguise across a chair in their apartment, was the idea that Sarah would never allow a cocaine user into her life. The thought shook him to his core. He had never contemplated the idea that Sarah may become a permanent and intimate part of his life. On the other hand, the thought that there may come a day when she would not be in his life at all, in any form because of his drug use, froze him to the core with some kind of fundamental shock. His world had tilted oddly and he didn't know how to make it right.

Over the next few days and weeks, Holmes slowly began to wean himself off cocaine. It wasn't a resolution he deliberately made, he just found he didn't think or feel the same way about the drug that he once had. Suddenly, he wanted it out of his life. Each day, he took less than the day before. Within a few weeks, he was able to go entire days without it. Within a few months, he was able to do without it at all and he threw out his syringes and supplies of 7% solution. Things had changed a lot since Sarah arrived from God only knew where, Holmes acknowledged soberly.

Sarah did not see much of Watson or Holmes during this time. Sometimes weeks would go by before she could visit Mrs Laidley's home. There was one rare occasion when Sarah did run into all of them.

"Your hair is getting quite long now," Mrs Laidley said kindly, after Sarah had not seen them for three or four weeks, "You can almost put it up without using a hairpiece."

"It will make getting ready for the performances a lot easier when I can," Sarah admitted with a grin, sipping the hot comforting liquid.

"Yes, it's quite a transformation isn't it Holmes?" Watson said enthusiastically, taking an offered piece of shortbread from Mrs Laidley with a smile of thanks.

Sarah looked at Holmes out of the corner of one eye. She knew perfectly well he had stolen her scissors that night so that she couldn't cut her hair. Sarah guessed that Holmes knew she wouldn't cut it once she had calmed down.

"Quite remarkable," Holmes said in his clipped tones, "When I remember what a bedraggled creature Watson dragged to Baker Street, I almost don't recognise you."

"Holmes!" Watson said reprovingly. Holmes did not look the slightest abashed.

Sarah smirked to herself. Holmes could never accuse her of being ruder than he was, she thought. To Victorian eyes she probably did look a terrible mess, she supposed. Victorians did go in for a lot of dressing, particularly the women.

"Yes, everyone particularly despised my trousers," Sarah recalled wryly.

"Hideous!" Holmes pronounced definitely. Holmes did almost everything definitely, "But now look at you! Quite the lady," he finished with a gentlemanly bow of his impeccably groomed head in Sarah's direction.

Watson looked only slightly mollified by Holmes' last statement.

It was probably the first time Holmes had ever paid a compliment to her appearance although he had praised her resourcefulness and practicality before now, Sarah reflected. The preceding insult rather over-shadowed the lackluster compliment however, so Sarah was decidedly under-whelmed. Not that she cared, she had any number of silly men willing to tell her all sorts of nonsense about her looks. She kept burning the stuff and it kept pouring in. It was surprising how quickly gratuitous compliments got boring, she reflected.

"We haven't seen you so much lately," Mrs Laidley cut in, tactfully changing the subject, "the ballet must be keeping you much occupied."

"Vladimir has me learning new parts as well as the usual classes and rehearsals and performances," Sarah explained, taking more shortbread when it was offered. With all the dancing she was doing, she needed the calories. Sarah was quite often ravenous.

Mrs Laidley frowned slightly, "It seems a very hard life, particularly for a young lady."

"It is a hard life but I'm not a lady," Sarah said cheerfully, "and I'm pretty tough."

There was a distinct snorting sound from Holmes' direction. Obviously he agreed with Sarah's assessment.

"You've achieved an enormous amount in a very short time," Dr Watson said thoughtfully, "I mean, when you consider you appeared in Kent with almost nothing, you now have two rooms on Oxford Street and some lovely clothes and excellent prospects – not to mention quite a following of admirers."

"I had the very great advantage of my dancing," Sarah reminded him, remembering just in time that it was impolite to brush shortbread crumbs from her dress onto the floor the way she would have at home. Victorian society was full of social land mines. It took a lot of skill to negotiate them without _something_ blowing up in your face, she contemplated.

"Yes, it was very fortunate you had this talent," Dr Watson agreed musingly.

"Very fortunate indeed! Where does a young, friendless woman go in London society? How does she support herself without certain skills such as required by a governess or a music teacher? London is not a safe place for such a woman," Holmes said in his incisive voice, shaking his head sternly, "And yet, you have not only survived but thrived where the odds were against you. Your adaptability is quite astonishing considering it is obvious that you come from a very different society to ours, is that not true?"

He had slipped in the question very cleverly but not so cleverly that Sarah had not spotted it.

"Yes, that's very true," Sarah replied noncommittally looking at him innocently over the rim of her tea cup.

"So how did someone as foreign as yourself come to be in Kent?" he asked but Sarah wasn't sure if he was posing the question to her or thinking aloud.

"I thought you were going to solve the puzzle for me, Mr Holmes," Sarah said limpidly. It was true that it was still a puzzle to Sarah how she got there.

Sarah was about to leave later that afternoon when Dr Watson took her to one side.

"Holmes has a great deal of respect for you although he doesn't show it particularly well," he said almost apologetically, a wry expression crossing his face momentarily, "I'm afraid that he doesn't have a high opinion of your sex on the whole," he added with an air of confession.

"I had noticed," Sarah said with amusement.

"I do believe he admires your independence," he persisted, obviously trying to compensate for Holmes' earlier remarks.

"Mr Holmes still suspects that I could turn out to be playing some deep game of my own. I'm afraid that he has spent too long examining the criminal classes and suspects everyone he comes across of having questionable motives," Sarah replied frankly.

Dr Watson stared at her nonplussed but he did not contradict her.

"It will take a long time before Mr Holmes stops viewing me suspiciously. I can't occupy too much of my energy worrying about Mr Holmes' low opinion of myself or women generally. I have a living to earn," Sarah said and then smiled reassuringly at Dr Watson for she did like him a great deal.

"You are a very sensible young woman," Dr Watson said with gentle approval and Sarah took her leave of him and Mrs Laidley, Holmes having left earlier.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: So fans of the Canon can keep track of the timeline, it is during Sarah's first tour that Holmes solves the case of the Yellow Face (1884) and the case of the Red Circle (1885)._

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 _Loved one and_ _friend_ _You have put far from me, a_ _nd_ _my acquaintances into darkness._

Psalm 88:18

When Sarah went back to her two rooms at Oxford Street, she examined herself in a recently acquired mirror she used to help her with placement for certain steps and postures. She did look quite different, Sarah supposed. Her hair had become much glossier and her skin finer from the softer Victorian water. Modern water was full of minerals and was very hard which was not good for hair or skin. Being away from chemicals had also stopped her hair frizzing, it now lay quite sleek. With wearing a hat all the time, her hair had also darkened to a true raven black rather than a sun streaked dark brown. No central heating had also given colour to her lips and cheeks, not to mention the constant exercise from the dancing. She had also slimmed down a bit due to the unprocessed food and exercise. Sarah hadn't been overweight before but certainly had not had the sleek, greyhound slim lines of the modern dancer. She still didn't but she was also now too thin to be fashionable in Victorian London. It seemed that no matter which times she lived in, she was doomed to have a problem figure!

As Sarah sipped some hot tea in her rooms on one of her rare evenings off, she contemplated her last encounter with Watson and Holmes. She was aggravated with Holmes which was not a new feeling but an improvement over feeling hurt and disappointed with him.

Sarah knew from reading Watson's histories of Holmes' cases that he was prone to intellectual vanity and to have rather a low opinion of those around him. Sarah recognised she was probably annoyed with him because she felt herself included in those he had a low opinion of. She felt no desire to prove her worth to him or anyone else but his low opinion grated nonetheless. Sarah didn't like this creeping desire to prove him wrong in his low estimation, it was silly. It made her irritated with herself; an irritation she quite easily transferred onto Holmes himself.

It also made Sarah feel somewhat depressed, although she had no idea why Holmes' naturally suspicious nature and dislike of women would depress her just because it was inevitably turned in her direction. It is not as though she would be the exception to the rule. If a great and accomplished beauty like Irene Adler would only provoke admiration rather than genuine liking in Holmes in years to come, Sarah knew that she hardly stood any chance to fair better. Why did she care anyway? What was Holmes to her? He was a walking computer trying to solve the algorithm of her presence in London. She would not classify him as a friend. As an acquaintance, he was profoundly uncomfortable.

In some respects, Sarah found him as fascinating as he found the mystery of her appearance in London. He was a strange cipher in the stories Watson had written about him. You never found out much about his past or what was really going on inside his head, except when he explained some convoluted chain of logic. She also admired him. She had always been irresistibly attracted to very clever people and she had never met anyone quite as clever as Holmes. Sarah supposed it was something she would have liked to be herself. She was smart enough, but genius was something else again. To be able to read or examine anything and understand it immediately, to be able to analyse information and synthesise it with lightning speed, to bring new knowledge into the world - that was amazing to Sarah.

It was clear to her that Holmes was a damaged person. He had anorexic tendencies, an addictive and compulsive personality, and was avoidant in his relationships. Sarah was sure a psychologist could make sense of all that, but it merely indicated to her that there was serious damage done in his early life. He was obviously a naturally more sensitive person than his brother who seemed, from what Sarah had read in her former life, to have escaped the urge to self-harm apart from over-eating.

As well as the fascination and respect, there was a part of Sarah that felt a sense of concern for the brilliant and eccentric, but obviously damaged man. Then there was the other part of Sarah that was intensely provoked by his often repellent behaviour. By the time Sarah and Holmes parted company after any meeting, it was generally the latter that was winning.

There were times she questioned exactly how much influence Holmes had over her life. There had been times when she had seen a handsome face outside the theatre after a show and may, once upon a time, have been tempted to flirt a bit; particularly as the young men were so eager for just such attention. However, at the back of her mind, Sarah knew that Holmes may be watching. Not always in person either, as he had his agents. She never knew when she was being observed and when she wasn't. How much of her behaviour did she modify because she knew it may be observed first or second hand by Holmes? More to the point, why would she want to? Again, Sarah found herself asking, why did she care what Holmes thought of her? Why should she care?

The real point was, she _did_ care – very much so. She had a horror of being observed behaving in a way Holmes would despise. She couldn't understand why she felt this horror. Why would his disapproval matter? She wasn't actively seeking his approval. To be honest, she would have no idea how to. Who on earth could figure out what would please or displease him? Who knew what went on in that neatly groomed head and behind that impassive face? She was too busy trying to survive economically to figure it out either. The degree to which Holmes influenced her choices and conduct was an ongoing riddle to her.

Over the next few months, Sarah found herself withdrawing from the company of Watson and Holmes. She had excuse enough for she was very busy performing and preparing for the tour. Sarah did invite Mrs Laidley to take tea with her in the parlour every now and then so Mrs Laidley would not think she was deliberately avoiding her oldest and best friend in London. Other than that, Sarah stayed away from anywhere that she was likely to run into Holmes. He made her feel off-balance and confused. It was unpleasant and she needed to focus on her career and survival.

In preparation for the tour, Sarah carefully packed what she would need, practicing and paying calls on the few people she would miss while she was away. Sarah had already said her goodbyes to Dr Watson and Mrs Laidley, so that only left the Waverleys and a few other nice families she had met. It was on this round of visits that she would meet young Waverley's fiancé and she would instantly be attracted to the gentle redhead.

In Victorian times, one bought a new outfit and hat to travel in. Sarah had bought a lovely pale pink dress in Cornwall, hand-embroidered with tiny white flowers by a local woman who had been thrilled when Sarah bought it from her with such admiration for her work. Sarah had commissioned another in a soft green which she picked up from the dressmaker on her last day. This Sarah would save for another occasion.

She chose a small hat with a short veil. Sarah liked veiled hats. It gave the illusion of some privacy when one was being stared at such a great deal.

The company was only going as far as Paris on this first leg where they were to stay for a full month. After this, it was a dizzying journey to Madrid and Lisbon, then back through Monaco to Milan and Rome. Then on to Athens, Bulgaria, Belgrade, Bucharest, Budapest, Vienna, Munich, Prague, Warsaw, Kiev and St Petersburg, Helsinki, Stockholm, Oslo, Copenhagen then back into Germany to visit Berlin and Luxemburg before heading home to Britain via Amsterdam and Brussels. Once in Britain, they were heading to Dublin and Edinburgh before a final three month long season in London. All in all, they would be away from Britain for ten months and away from London for eleven months. In many of the small European capitals such as Brussels, Luxemburg, Belgrade and Amsterdam, they were only staying for one week. The company was averaging two weeks in each city apart from Britain and Paris.

As the train pulled out of the station, Sarah suddenly felt very lonely. As the star of the company, the other dancers apart from her partner did not really approach her. There was a real hierarchy in the theatre in Victorian times and if you were the star, you were respected but left alone. There was no-one on the station to see Sarah off. She had already said goodbye to her friends and acquaintances but most of the other dancers had parents and siblings and other extended family waving them off.

Sarah closed the window on the first class carriage Vladimir had booked for her and turned her face away from the window. Victorian London from a train window was dreary anyway and she was conscious that she had a big test before her. If Sarah could win over audiences all over the Continent and make enough money for the company, she could potentially earn enough personally in the next decade to be independently wealthy for the rest of her life. The likes of Irene Adler had done so and later, Pavlova would as well. It only remained to see what Europe thought of Sarah's athletic and virtuoso style – her 'acrobatics' as Holmes would put it. Sarah was fairly confident but this would be the real test. Paris would be an excellent indicator. Otherwise, perhaps the offers from the likes of rich young men would have to become attractive to her. The thought made her feel both weak and mildly hysterical and Sarah wondered idly if the Victorian's tendency towards the 'vapours' was rubbing off on her.

As it was, Sarah had nothing really to worry about. Paris was a huge success from opening night. Her reputation had preceded her somewhat and the Parisians were curious, so tickets were sold out for the first evening. After that, tickets sold so quickly that all seats were taken for the Paris season after the first two days. Hawkers were selling them for a huge profit.

If the English gentlemen had been rather over keen fans, the French were far worse. Sarah didn't speak a word of French which she suspected was just as well because she was sure she would have been itching to slap some of them if she could understand what they were saying. Sarah made a mental note to spend some time learning other languages when she got back to London. Obviously languages were more important in Victorian Europe than modern Australia. Vladimir had to employ the backstage staff to escort Sarah through the crowd to her carriage each night to ensure she got back to the hotel safely.

One incident that stood out clearly in her mind was a conversation with an old Paris Opera Ballet star who now taught up-coming dancers. She came backstage one evening while Sarah was taking off her make up and was admitted by a porter who obviously knew who she was.

"Pardon my instrusion, my dear," she said in excellent English, "But I had to come and compliment you on your interpretation of Camargo. My great-great-grandmother knew her, you see. I come from a line of dancers. My mother used to tell me stories about the great Camargo which she heard from her mother which she heard from her mother."

Sarah frankly stared at this woman who had become, in a short time, a living treasure of dance history.

"Tell me about her," Sarah begged.

"She was very competitive and put her dancing before all else, including her lover the Count de Clemont. She chose a style of dancing that she knew would be popular. Like yourself, she was a virtuoso and used brilliant footwork. She defied fashion and modesty by shortening her skirts which allowed her to go past her rivals in technique very quickly. Of course, Parisians are hard to shock so the fashion caught on quickly. She was an innovator as you know, developing and introducing new steps as you are yourself. She was very strong, doing steps that only men had done before but she had an airy, light quality too which I think you capture very well in your interpretation. Unlike you, she was not very pretty but she used the brilliancy of her technique to distract the audience from this fact. I never understood why the Comte de Metun abducted her and her sister. It was not for her beauty that is for sure. Perhaps her early won fame had dazzled him. Fame does that to some men," the woman said with an elegant Gallic shrug. "One thing you get very right in how you dance Camargo - it would not have been in her character to get hysterical or melodramatic about the abduction. Camargo was an intelligent and determined woman. She could not have kept in the forefront of her art for the whole of her life otherwise. I think it very wise that you do not overact the part where she is abducted but rather show her calmly and intelligently planning their escape. That is exactly what Camargo would have done."

Sarah thanked her and asked her to join them at the Hotel for dinner. She asked Sarah if she could bring a few friends from the Paris Opera Ballet and Sarah said, "of course". This is how Sarah made some strong ties at the Paris Opera Ballet. In years to come when Sarah retired from the stage, she would come to Paris to take special classes and run short courses for the Paris Opera dancers. In the meantime, they would try and persuade Sarah many times to come and live in France and dance there.

Sarah did buy more clothes in Paris. She had a modest wardrobe for a woman in her position and she intended to never become extravagant but the clothes in Paris were divine and although she had never enjoyed clothes shopping in 2010, Sarah found having clothes specially fitted for you infinitely more satisfying than trying to find an article of standard sized clothing that would fit properly – an almost impossible and infinitely frustrating task in modern times. Sarah carefully chose one dress of each style that she particularly liked (only three in all). She was far more circumspect than the other dancers who seemed to spend their entire salaries on clothes and entertainment on their nights off.

Sarah refused a great many invitations, pleading the need to rehearse and train during the day and that she was too tired to go out after a performance. This was perfectly true but it didn't stop the other dancers from partying a little too much and paying for it the next day.

Although Sarah found Paris a rather dirty and squalid city and the men too forward and pushy for her tolerance, she did like many of the people she met in the theatre there and enjoyed her rare forays into the city's shops and cafes and museums and galleries. She made a point of seeing the Paris Opera Ballet more than once while she was there to check up on her 'rivals'. Sarah needn't have worried; their technique was just as far behind her's as the English dancers. She missed the English tea houses but substituted the cafes and got along just fine. Fortunately most of the French spoke English and once they realised Sarah was the 'English Ballerina', they forgave her ignorance of their language.

Just as she was beginning to feel a little at home in Paris, it was time to board the train to Madrid.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N:_ _Holmes would have solved A Study in Scarlet the year before Sarah arrived in Victorian London._

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 _Just as iron sharpens iron, friends sharpen the minds of each other._

Proverbs 27:17

It was one of the longest train journeys on the tours, so Sarah had settled herself into her first class carriage for the long haul. She had indulged herself in some Parisian chocolate and would treat herself to some after dinner. Sarah had already lost more weight from the frenetic pace of performing in Paris, so she didn't have to worry about that side of things. If she didn't put on a few pounds soon, she would have to have her clothes taken in and Sarah was already considered unfashionably thin.

"You need more bosom," Vladimir would say solemnly to Sarah, "It will give your figure a better line."

Sarah pondered how much fashion dictated the general shape of a dancer's body. In modern times, having a 'bosom' was a distinct disadvantage. Who ever heard of a bouncing ballerina? Sleek, slender lines would become the look of the future.

Sarah decided if she had to have a 'bosom', it would be through Continental chocolate. She was surprised how quickly she got sick from the sugar. She decided that she must have grown unused to eating so much. She supposed there was so much hidden sugar in modern diets that her body had adapted. Now it had unadapted itself and she couldn't eat more than one chocolate without feeling too sweet.

The train journey continued overnight and it was sort of fun in a first class sleeper. Rather like sleeping in a chocolate box with all the brass and red velvet but sort of romantic too. Early in the morning, she got up and put on her practice dress. The company would not have time to do class today once they arrived, so Sarah would at least do some stretches. Trying to do ballet exercises in the small space of a first class compartment of a swaying steam train was no joke, Sarah decided. She had to hold on with both hands to do plies. She had got as far as grand battements when there was a knock at the door. Sarah knew it was still some hours until they arrived so she assumed it was either Vladimir or her dance partner.

"Come in!" she called, swishing her leg high into the air.

Sarah nearly kicked Holmes in the head. "Oh sorry, hazard with dancers you know," Sarah apologised as her leg came back down. Holmes' face was a picture. Sarah didn't know whether he looked more shocked, nonplussed, put out or embarrassed.

Sarah went and lay down along one of the seats. The bed had already been folded away. She pointed to the seat opposite. "Please sit down. Shall I ring for some tea?"

"Why are you lying down?" Holmes asked curiously, a frown on his narrow face.

"Because if I sit in the middle of a practice session, my muscles will seize up," Sarah explained.

Holmes seemed satisfied with the explanation and sat down, quite at his ease.

"Aren't you surprised to see me?" he asked, pulling out his pipe and tobacco.

"Mr Holmes, I wouldn't be surprised to see you in the middle of the Kalahari Desert," Sarah replied calmly and truthfully.

He made an odd barking noise that passed for a laugh and settled down to tamping down his pipe. Sarah stared at him oddly. It was the first time she had heard him laugh. She hadn't realised that he could.

"I take it you're on another case," Sarah finally said, recovering from the shock of learning that Holmes had a sense of humour.

"You are quite correct as per usual, Miss Mounteney. I am on my way to Lisbon on a case and deliberately chose this train because I knew your Company would be on it," he said with a nod of his neat, dark head.

This confused Sarah. She had no idea why Holmes had deliberately sought her out, particularly after they had seen so little of each other socially in the past few months.

"I saw your Camargo in Paris," Holmes commented, now puffing away happily, "I thought it very good. You seem to have caused quite a sensation in Paris."

"And I saw Watson's story of your case, A Study in Scarlet. It was very interesting. I thought your deductions were quite brilliant," Sarah said sincerely. One thing you could honestly admire about Holmes was his brains even if he did have the social skills of an amoeba; Sarah contemplated, not for the first time.

"Oh that!" Holmes said irritably, "He turned it into a common story. It should have been written as a dissertation on the science of deduction! He left the most important parts out."

"His version was more entertaining. No-one would actually read a dissertation," Sarah observed.

Holmes face darkened at her comment. He knew she was right, but he wasn't going to admit it. He smoked like a chimney in silence for a while. Finally he scrabbled around in his coat pocket and brought out a package wrapped in brown paper and string and gave it to her.

"It's from Mrs Laidley. It's a book she thought you may enjoy reading on the train while on tour. You can give it back to her when you're back in London," Holmes said.

Once again, Sarah noticed how beautiful Holmes' hands were as he passed the book across to her. The knuckles were bruised, however. He must have been boxing again, she concluded. _At least this time his face didn't get in the way of someone's fists_ , she thought with amusement.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked, sitting up to take it from him.

"Mrs Laidley said it was one of Thomas Hardy's latest novels – _Far From the Madding Crowd_ ," Holmes said languidly, slouching back in his seat.

"Oh God! I hate Thomas Hardy and I particularly hate _Far from the Madding Crowd_ ," Sarah said with deep disgust and sighed deeply.

"You've already read it?" Holmes asked with interest.

"Years ago, it's a classic in modern times. It was horrible," Sarah said, "I suppose I'd better keep it for now so Mrs Laidley's feelings aren't hurt."

An unusual expression of amusement sat on Holmes' fine, angular features. He decided that was not in the mood to pursue her remarks about having read the book in the distant future, he desired to keep their interview as amiable as possible.

"Why horrible?" he asked.

"Have you read it?" she asked, gesturing with the brown package.

"No, I don't have time for novels and if I did, I still wouldn't read them," Holmes said flatly.

"Very wise, in this case," Sarah said, her forehead creased in a frown.

"You still haven't told me what is so terrible about it," Holmes said lazily, rather enjoying himself.

"Firstly, there isn't a single likeable character in the entire novel. By the end, you wish the entire lot of them would be swallowed up by the sea. It's also sentimental and maudlin. In the end, the hero, Gabriel, says to the heroine, Bathsheba, _whenever you look up there I shall be — and whenever I look up, there will be you_ ," Sarah quoted, looking appalled.

Holmes stared at Sarah with a horrified expression. When Sarah saw his face, she started laughing.

"I knew you would understand, Mr Holmes. It's a ghastly book. I don't want to read it again," Sarah said, putting it hurriedly into one of her traveling cases.

"What novels do you like?" he asked curiously, once he had recovered from the hideous thought of having another person ever-present and underfoot.

"Jules Verne, Edgar Allen Poe, Jane Austen, Mary Shelley. Those are the ones you'd know anyway," Sarah said.

"You have some odd tastes for a young woman," Holmes said, his dark brows raised.

"So I've been told," Sarah replied.

Holmes was silent for a time, puffing on his pipe and considering how a young ballet dancer might acquire a taste for sensational literature and a distinct distaste for most of the sickening romantic literature which was, by all that was usual, the natural inheritance of her gender.

"I meant to ask, are you still being harassed by young men at the stage door?" Holmes said finally, having brooded for a bit.

"Yes, unfortunately," Sarah said with some annoyance, "Not that I understood anything they had to say which was just as well. It didn't sound as though they were saying anything even remotely respectable or perhaps that's just the way French sounds."

"You don't speak French?" he asked mildly.

"No, I don't speak any language other than English. It's a deficiency I'm going to have to address when I get back to London, I'm afraid. Particularly if we are going to be touring a lot," Sarah explained.

"It's a strange hole in your education," he said curiously. Sarah could see all his antennae go up. Here was another mystery about her that he could investigate further, "Did you go to school?"

"Well, of course I went to school!" Sarah said touchily and then realised that not everyone had the opportunity to go to school in Victorian times. It was really not until the twentieth centuary that everyone in the West would get at least some education. It was not until close to the twenty-first centuary that most people in the West would complete high school.

"How long for?" he asked, watching Sarah closely.

"Twelve years at school then three years at University," she replied, deciding to shock him.

She succeeded.

"Fifteen years of education and no languages?" he replied, quite stunned.

"You have to choose to study them," Sarah shrugged.

"What did you study?" he asked.

"A little bit of everything; reading, writing and mathematics. We also did history, social studies, geography, all the branches of science, art, drama, music, religion, literature," Sarah listed. She had done Communications at University but that wouldn't mean anything to Holmes.

"So, you're quite over-educated for your current profession," Holmes observed thoughtfully. It did explain her exposure to a broad range of literature, he mused.

"Just a little," she agreed with a grin, "But it sure pays well!"

"Far better than governessing," he agreed.

"I'm not qualified for that anyway. I'm not enough of a lady and as you point out, I don't have languages," Sarah reminded him.

"What sciences did you do?" he probed.

"All of them; Biology, Chemistry and Physics. Not that I remember much of any of it now. I only did them at school. It was pretty basic stuff, not like you would do at University level. So it's no use asking me to recite the periodic table or to solve simultaneous equations," Sarah said with a laugh.

"Most women would not even know the periodic table existed or what algebra was," Holmes said ironically, eyeing Sarah speculatively. "When you are back in London, would you be prepared to submit to a University entrance test? I would be curious about the extent of your education and how it differs from what is offered in our Education system."

"I don't mind," Sarah said with a shrug, "But don't expect great results. My education has been very different from your own or that of anyone else in London."

"So I see," Holmes said slowly.

He sat silently for quite a time, obviously trying to fit the new information in with what he already knew about her. Sarah pondered that it was the first time since their very first meeting that their exchange hadn't bristled with unpleasant tension or Holmes hadn't said something outright offensive. She hadn't had a chance to take a good look at him for a while and frankly, hadn't been inclined to in their last few encounters. There was no doubt in her mind now that his face was thinner and paler than it had been at their first meeting. His skin had an unhealthy blue-white tinge. His beautiful hands looked bonier too, although no less attractive for it. Sarah wished she had an insight into the self-destructive tendencies that drove the man, but what good would it do if she did? She could not help him. However, seeing this oddly comfortable and relaxed mood of today, Sarah suspected that he may even be good company. She wondered at his odd moods and what had made him seem suddenly more at ease.

Holmes left soon after, having finished his pipe and filled Sarah's compartment with noxious smoke. It was obvious to Sarah that she was still a mystery that he wanted to solve. She found this annoying, so she wasn't sorry to see him go although he was a familiar face in a sea of strangeness.

As Holmes had been lost in thought regarding the information about Sarah's education, he had suddenly realised that Sarah had been contemplating him in that unnerving way she had. He could feel a kind of panic rising in his chest and he knew that he was about to go into self-defensive mode and do or say something odious. He had made his excuses and left as quickly as politely possible. He did not want to undo all the effort of the previous hour or so being pleasant and relaxed in her company. He had not gone seeking information on this occasion; he had simply wanted to check in and maybe begin to undo the damage his previous self-protectiveness had wrought. Of course, the information about her education was irresistible and he had immediately gone into a reverie only to become aware that Sarah was studying him again in that odd, searching, concerned way. In that way that gave Holmes the creeping, panicking feeling that not only was she _looking_ at him but that she was actually really _seeing_ him and seeing something about him that he could not. Even more unnerving, that whatever she saw did not make her dislike him. Holmes was frankly used to being either invisible or overtly disliked. It was as though he had been a ghost all his life and now someone could see him, except he was the one who was spooked because, unlike everyone else he'd never known, she wasn't running away screaming. In fact, she looked like she wanted to see him more clearly. What did he do with that?

With shaking hands, Holmes locked himself into his first class compartment and wished he had some 7% solution. He didn't know if he could bear for anyone to really see him. In truth, he could not even see himself plainly. Large parts of himself were still a mystery even to him. What if she saw something that he himself could not even face?

Once Holmes was himself again in the morning, he was satisfied that Sarah was doing well on tour. She had the rest of the company with her on the train and it appeared her gentlemen fans were no worse in Paris than in London.

He was frankly pleased by the changes in her appearance. She looked like a stylish ballet star these days. Even in her practice costume, her hair was elegantly done. He knew from his investigations that she was one of the trend setters in London now. If she wore a new style of dress, everyone else would be wearing it within a matter of weeks. He doubted it was deliberate on her part, but ballet stars were destined to be followed.

He had his Society members and their own irregulars on the Continent looking out for her and they would report back. Even though he knew Sarah was much better adjusted and safer now than when she first came to London, he was unsurprised to find that he could not stop worrying about her. At least with the irregulars looking out, he had some peace of mind.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _Jealous_ _y_ _as_ _cruel as the grave; its flames_ _are_ _flames of fire, a most vehement flame._

Song of Solomon 8:6

The next leg of the tour was a whirlwind through Madrid, Lisbon, Monaco, Milan, Rome, Athens, Varna, Bucharest, Belgrade and Budapest with many stops in smaller cities in between.

After the small, pretty city of Budapest the company went to Vienna. Sarah had always longed to see Vienna and she believed she was seeing it at its romantic best, during the Victorian Era. Sarah had mental images of sweeping waltzes in gorgeous dresses on outdoor dance floors under the stars and she was not to be disappointed. The only free evening Sarah had in Vienna, she spent at just such an outdoor ball but because she didn't know how to waltz (ironic for a professional dancer, she thought wryly) she seated herself at a small table and took in the spectacle. It was not long before Sarah was recognised although it was her first visit to Vienna and eager fans asked her to dance. When Sarah made her excuses, they insisted on teaching her the Viennese Waltz (once they got over their shock at this sad gap in her education) and that is how Sarah learned it. She had a glorious time spinning around on the arms of mustachioed young men once she got the hang of it. The dance floor was at the foot of the marble stairs of a grand old house all lit up and Sarah could not have imagined a more perfect night. Once the master of the house was informed that Sarah was there, she was invited into their private rooms for coffee and met many of the Viennese aristocracy.

They were a glittering crowd and Sarah felt a bit gauche in her comparatively simple Paris gown with only fresh flowers for decoration – no match for the gorgeous gems dripping off all the women! They were determined to be pleased with her, however and spoke to her in their excellent English.

From Vienna the company went across to Germany (still the Austrian Empire in those days) to perform in Munich for a week. By now, they had been on tour for six months and were halfway through. After Munich, the company zig-zagged back to Prague and then travelled to Warsaw.

Sarah was eager for the next stage of the journey. They were about to travel into the heart of Ballet's future – Russia. They were to spend ten days in St Petersburg. The Russians were already keen fans of the ballet and although they had their own stars, they were eager to see what other companies had to offer the artistic world.

As in Paris, Sarah's reputation preceded her and tickets were sold out for opening night. After opening night, they sold out the rest of our brief season in a very short time. Sarah had been welcomed and celebrated in Paris but Russia would turn out to be her triumph. Every night, her sleigh was surrounded by a crowd that would follow her cheering back to the Hotel. The Tsar himself would invite Sarah to his home in St Petersburg (which he did not like and did not live in most of the time) to meet his family. Sarah's knowledge of the future clouded her meeting with this ill-fated ruler and his family of girls. She kept looking at them, knowing that none of this family that she was taking tea with would survive the revolution except in legend but Sarah could not warn them.

It was during this time that Sarah saw Holmes again. She heard his familiar shout among the crowd around her sleigh one night. He was trying to fight his way through and get Sarah's attention at the same time. As soon as Sarah spotted him, she stood up in the sleigh and called back. When the crowd realised Sarah knew Holmes, they parted like the Red Sea to let him through. He clambered aboard and sat himself down quite composedly and shouted for the driver to move on. Sarah gave him plenty of blankets as it was very cold and he was completely inappropriately dressed in evening wear for the theatre.

To his surprise, Holmes found that he quite liked having Sarah fuss with blankets, making sure he was warm enough and tucking them around him. It was a revelation that Sarah was comfortable with being physically so close to him. Unlike the other young women he had known in his youth, she was neither coy nor stand-offish. She matter-of-factly pulled the blankets around him and folded them into place as naturally as if she was his mother or sister, except his own mother would never have been so nurturing. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to be taken care of, his usually sharp grey eyes resting thoughtfully on the small dark head until she was satisfied.

"I must say, I don't like the ballet Sylvia as much as I liked Camargo. It's a very silly story but your dancing was, as always, quite spectacular," Holmes said with a slight bow of his top hat once he was comfortable.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. I agree that Slyvia is a quite ridiculous story but I was hoping the audience would concentrate on the dancing," Sarah said with a laugh, still a trifle exhilarated from the crowd's enthusiasm and energy, "Are you working on the case for the Tsar?" she asked.

Holmes looked nonplussed for a second. "How did you guess?" he asked.

"I can't imagine anyone less than the Tsar of Russia could induce you to come all this way," Sarah said conversationally.

"I understand you have already met the Tsar and his family?" Holmes said.

"You do keep your nose to the ground, don't you?" Sarah said with a smile.

"That is my profession," Holmes countered with a nod of acknowledgement, "What do you make of them?" he asked a little too casually.

"Doomed," Sarah said quietly after a pause, almost more to herself than Holmes, "I think they are doomed."

There was silence for a few moments. "I quite agree with you," Holmes finally replied just as quietly.

"Not that they know it," Sarah added.

"Not that they would believe it," he said with finality.

He was silent again for a while. "I see that you have gained access to the most powerful families in Europe in a very short space of time," he observed, "How long have you been away, a few months?"

"I believe it is coming on for eight months now," Sarah said.

"And you have gained entrée to the Habsburgs and the Romanovs – two of the most powerful families in European History," Holmes said thoughtfully.

"I met some Medicis in Italy too," Sarah interjected.

He nodded, he already knew. "You are in a unique position. Being an artist gives you entrée where another may work a lifetime to penetrate and never succeed. You have also met some family members of the Saxe-Coburgs in London before now, I believe?"

"Yes, Vladimir made me accept that invitation because of their close connection to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria," Sarah admitted, "And by the way, is there anything I've done or anyone I've visited that you _don't_ know about?"

"Probably not," Holmes drawled, "and I'm not sure what the gossip columns will have to say about you spending an evening in Vienna being whisked around the ballroom floor on the arms of innumerable men dancing the Viennese Waltz. It's not entirely respectable," he added pointedly and with a distinctly disapproving air.

"Not respectable?" Sarah protested indignantly, "A waltz, for goodness sake?"

"It's considered too restless and young men are allowed to hold young ladies too familiarly," Holmes explained coolly. "I must go. I've got some further investigations to undertake tonight. Take care of yourself, Miss Mounteney!" Holmes said, the last shouted as he jumped clear of the sleigh as it pulled up outside the Hotel. Then he was gone, slipped into the night like a shadow.

Once again, Holmes had succeeded in exasperating Sarah.

In all honesty, Holmes had no idea why he had said anything to Sarah about waltzing in Vienna. It had slipped out before he could catch it back. Of course, the thought bothered him. He hated the idea of all these strange men pawing at Sarah as they danced and loving every second of it. However, it wasn't really his business to comment or censure. As a ballet girl, her reputation was not as precious as some debutante and plenty of them waltzed as much as they liked. It was different when she danced on stage. All her partners were homosexual as far as he could make out. They spent most of the performance making eyes at the young men in the audience. However, the idea of an army of young men having access to Sarah to hold her close against them and whisk her around a dance floor made him nauseous.

The Imperial Ballet invited Sarah to join them in St Petersburg permanently. Her heart ached to say yes. Since she was a child and had avidly read the life of Ana Pavlova, she had wanted to live and dance in St Petersburg with the Imperial Ballet. She had wanted to go every day to Theatre Street. Sarah would be there when little Ana began her training and career, not to mention Karsavina and Fokine. The golden age of ballet was coming and it would be birthed in this city. She would probably get to work with Petipa too. She wanted to stay so badly it almost made Sarah cry. Then she remembered that she didn't speak a word of Russian, knew no-one in the whole of Russia apart from her new acquaintances and would miss London a great deal even just for the sake of the familiar. Sarah was almost glad to leave St Petersburg in the end before she made up her mind to stay. She left a part of her heart there anyway. In years to come, Sarah would visit it a great deal.

After Russia, the whirlwind began again and the next stop was Helsinki then Stockholm, Oslo and Copenhagen.

The company was now in their final stretch, heading back into Germany (called Bavaria, the Bohemian Empire and the Austrian Empire in the Victorian Era). They spent three days in Berlin and two days in Luxemburg. Finally they were on their way back to Britain via Amsterdam and Brussels.

By the time Sarah saw the white cliffs of Dover again, they had been touring for nine full months. She was glad they were spending two full weeks in both Dublin and Edinburgh. It was the constant moving around that was tiring. Sarah found it was exhilarating too but it would be nice not to have to unpack in a hotel room only to have to repack two or three days later and then sit on a train for long stretches. It would enable Sarah to practice and train in a more consistent way too which would help her dancing because she would be less stiff.

Finally, it was time to go home to London. It felt like home to Sarah after all the frenetic travel over the Continent. It felt like Sarah had been away much longer than eleven months. The season in London was to be long – another five months, but she would be doing fewer performances per week and would be able to establish a routine once again which is a huge advantage for any dancer, as dancers need the discipline of routine to stay on top of their technique.

When Sarah stepped off the train at Central Station, she was actually smiling to see the almost familiar surroundings. Some of her fans were waiting at the station, waving copies of papers with headlines such as:

 **BALLET STAR WOWS PARIS**

 **ENGLAND'S OWN BALLERINA CAPTURES THE HEART OF RUSSIAN AUDIENCES**

 **MOUNTENEY'S TRIUMPH IN VIENNA**

 **DANES EMBRACE OUR VIRTUOSO**

 **ROMANS LEFT BREATHLESS BY ENGLAND'S DAZZLING BALLERINA**

It seemed very step of her tour was being examined by the press and Sarah had been completely unaware of it. Sarah had returned to London far more famous than when she had left it. She fleetingly wondered what had made the gossip pages (or 'society pages' as they were euphemistically called).

Sarah was to find out later:

 **SECRET TRYST IN ST PETERSBURG**

(Referring to Sarah's sleigh ride with Holmes. Sarah found this ridiculous as they had been surrounded by a crowd.)

 **NEW STAR KICKS UP HER HEELS IN VIENNA**

(So Holmes had been right on that point, Sarah thought.)

 **MOUNTENEY SPENDS NIGHT IN ROYAL HOUSE OF HABSBURG**

(Technically true but sounded damning, she decided.)

 **BALLERINA ENJOYS PARIS NIGHTLIFE**

(In reference to Sarah's Hotel dinner with some dancers from the Paris Opera Ballet.)

It was amazing how perfectly innocent events could make her sound like a party queen, Sarah thought. She supposed it was inevitable.

Sarah went back to her rooms on Oxford Street and found them ready for her even to having a blazing fire in the grate and tea things left out. They had the rest of the day off but it was back to work tomorrow. Sarah decided that she would stretch out her cricks before going to bed but she wasn't doing one thing more other than enjoy her own private little space on Oxford Street.

After the season ended, Vladimir gave Sarah a huge bonus that she hadn't been expecting. She used part of it to rent a cottage in Cornwall for the first two of her four weeks off. The rest she salted away carefully with the rest of her savings. Sarah always had one eye on the future and although she already had considerable savings, she was very aware that whatever she put aside may have to support her for thirty or forty years.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

 _Look, the king has delight in you_

1 Samuel 18:22

Sarah had a very strange train journey out of London to Cornwall. She was in a compartment on her own as the train was not crowded when a gentleman entered and sat down opposite her. Sarah barely glanced at him as she was watching the scenery (and pretty dreary it was, she thought, in that part of London) when he addressed Sarah by name. She should not have been surprised. Her picture had been on posters and in the newspapers frequently lately although they were poor quality as photography was still in its infancy.

"Forgive my intrusion, I know we have not been introduced," he said in heavily accented English. Sarah could not immediately place his accent and a glance at his attire was of no help to her. It was rich and far more fanciful than any Englishman would ever have been caught dead in, "I am Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and King of Bohemia."

"Good lord!" Sarah muttered without thinking. She noticed that he was simply enormous – well over six foot with a breadth of shoulder and depth of chest to match it. His fair hair and pale blue eyes gave away his Germanic origins.

"I beg your pardon?" he said politely.

"Erm… nothing," Sarah replied, feeling rather intimidated by the man's sheer size and opulence.

"I must confess to you that this is no coincidence. I have deliberately sought you out," he continued with a slight bow of his head. Sarah wondered if she was supposed to get up and curtsey but thought better of it on a swaying train.

It seemed that he expected Sarah to say something but she had no idea what to say to a ruling monarch who had bailed her up on a train. Sarah also had a strong suspicion that the man before her was currently Irene Adler's lover.

"It is nearly impossible to find an opportunity to speak privately with you. You are very closely surrounded by invisible forces, Miss Mounteney. They guard you well and, like shadows, they are completely untraceable. It is impossible to penetrate your world if these unseen guardians do not wish it. You must have an immensely powerful protector," he said, regarding her thoughtfully.

Sarah was so taken aback by what the king said that she forgot to listen to the rest of what he was saying. What invisible force? Who were the "unseen guardians"? She knew Holmes had been gathering information on her from her first day in London and probably had collected a dossier by now, but what the king was describing was something else again. As far as she knew, no-one was actually protecting her.

"I have been following your career in London where I have been staying recently," he continued. He seemed to have a momentum of his own, so Sarah let him continue. "I have been most delighted by your performances."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sarah said courteously.

"I have never seen anyone dance like you," he continued almost without a pause for her acknowledgment, "It is extraordinary! Unique! Your delicacy, your lightness, the grace, the expressiveness!"

Sarah was rather alarmed he would keep going if she did not intervene and put a stop to all this gratuitous admiration.

"That's very kind of you," she interrupted, "Was there something I can do for Your Majesty?"

He paused and looked at Sarah thoughtfully with an expression she didn't feel particularly comfortable with. "Have you ever been to Bohemia, Miss Mounteney?" he asked.

"No, I haven't," she confessed, "I believe we are touring there within the next few months though."

"Would you like to live in Bohemia?" he asked quite out of the blue, "Would you like to be the principal of your very own ballet company there?"

"Bohemia is foreign to me. I don't know anyone there, nor do I speak the language. As to be principal of my own troupe, I am the principal soloist already," she said frankly.

"You would know someone there. You would know me and I could introduce you into the highest levels of society in Bohemia," he persisted.

"That's very kind of you but I like London and I intend to stay based there," Sarah said firmly.

"I would give you your own home near my palace and a holiday home in the country. You would only have to dance when you chose to. I would give you a very comfortable income and make sure you were looked after for the rest of your life even after you retire from the stage," he said, supremely confident that Sarah would not turn down such excellent terms.

Sarah knew what he was really suggesting and like all the others, she was not interested. Sarah really did want to dance for as long as she could. She was not looking to be anyone's mistress, not even the King of Bohemia.

There was silence for several long moments. Sarah could feel his pale eyes watching her, weighing what to say next.

"From the first moment I saw you, I had to know you," he said passionately, obviously deciding on the over-acted romantic tactic.

"I wanted to approach you in London but, as a matter of some delicacy, I was unable to do so," the King continued.

The King was making Sarah feel sordid and tawdry despite her intention to decline his advances. Even at this early stage, he felt he needed to woo her in a hidden and secretive manner. If it had entered her head to accept his propositions, it would only have become more distasteful once in Bohemia. Sarah was beginning to be repulsed by the King.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty but as I said, I am happy in London and intend to remain there," Sarah said clearly, her manner becoming more frosty.

The King frowned. He was clearly used to getting his own way. "What is it about London that has such a hold over you? I am being very generous," he demanded petulantly.

"Well, she is engaged to me!" a cold, clear, familiar voice said from the compartment doorway.

Sarah looked more astonished than the King to see Holmes standing there.

"Holmes!" the King said in amazement getting to his feet and dwarfing the compartment, "Is this true?" He looked back at Sarah for confirmation.

"Yes, it's true," Sarah said serenely, thinking fast and quickly playing along with Holmes' tactics.

"I had no idea!" the King said still astounded, "There has been no talk of it in London. All the gossip is that you are notoriously difficult to court and remained unattached."

The King suddenly adopted a chilly attitude.

"I trust you will both keep our private conversation to yourselves," he said.

"As long as I can trust you to leave my fiancé in peace from now on. It is hardly gentlemanly to proposition a lady when she is alone and unable to defend herself from your advances," Holmes said sharply.

The King's face flushed. "I don't think you need to doubt your lady's loyalty," he said ironically and with a bow, left the compartment.

Sarah didn't realise she was holding her breath until she let it out. Holmes came and sat opposite her where the King had been only seconds before.

Sarah simply stared at him in shock for several seconds. Holmes simply looked back, his perceptive gaze darting over her face for some kind of sign. He had no idea how she would react to his rather dramatic tactics. Would she be offended to be associated in such a way with him even as a temporary measure for her own protection?

Finally Sarah held out her hand to him in thanks and he shook it with gentlemanly vigor, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes," Sarah said gratefully and sincerely, "That was very self-sacrificing of you. I have a feeling it will be all over London soon enough, I'm sorry to say."

Sarah tilted her head and went back to frankly staring at Holmes. She felt very, very odd. Like she had once more stepped into an alternate universe except this one was even more incredible than stepping back over one hundred years into the past. Never, in her wildest dreams, could she have imagined being engaged to Sherlock Holmes – even a false engagement. It all felt surreal. Sherlock Holmes was not the marrying kind and of all the woman in his orbit, she considered herself the least likely to end up his fiancé. After all, he didn't even like her – he had made that obvious. Now a ridiculous set of circumstances had put them in this silly, false position however momentarily.

"What is it?" he asked with a frown. Her wordless contemplation was making him nervous.

"I can't imagine being married to you, Mr Holmes," Sarah said truthfully, "in fact, I can't imagine you being married to anybody."

Holmes took offense. It wasn't like he was completely ineligible. Sarah could tell from his expression that he was offended.

"I mean, you're hardly the marrying kind are you? And then a ballet girl too, of all things! No, I don't think it will be believed anyway. Just as well," Sarah said with some relief, recovering somewhat.

"What will you say if someone asks you about it?" he asked stiffly, starting to fill his pipe. He had a horrible feeling that Sarah was going to tell people that the mere idea of her being engaged to him was ridiculous.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll say the engagement is off and I'm terribly heart-broken and I'll never marry another!" Sarah said with sudden inspiration and looked pleased with herself.

Holmes relaxed slightly. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared. He lit his pipe in complete disregard of the no smoking signs, "I don't know why you find it so strange," he said irritably, "Is the idea of being engaged to me so bizarre?"

Frankly, Holmes could not understand her attitude. What was so odd about the arrangement? They were both unattached and were acquainted. It was a completely believable story.

"Yes!" Sarah said bluntly, "In fact, the idea of you being engaged to _anyone_ is bizarre."

"I'm not completely ineligible, you know," he said coldly. _Sarah could be every bit as rude as she claimed he was at times_ , he thought a trifle bitterly.

"Of course not," Sarah agreed with alacrity, "Your eligibility or otherwise is not what is strange."

"Then just what is?" he insisted testily.

"The idea of you being in love. I mean, it's just not _you_ , is it?" Sarah replied meditatively.

However, as she thought about it, she decided that she would very much like to see Holmes in love. It may transform him. Perhaps even be the catalyst that ended his self-destructiveness. That would make Sarah feel very much better, although she had no idea why she should care if Holmes went to the very devil. After all, it was only recently that he had started resembling a human being when in her company. It was the endless dilemma, why did she care so much about Mr Holmes' opinion and Mr Holmes' welfare when he clearly did not return the compliment?

Holmes bit down on his pipe and refused to reply, staring broodingly out of the window looking less than pleased. He did not understand why the notion of him being in love was so extraordinary. He was not a piece of machinery. He was a human being with feelings. What on earth impression did Sarah have of him if she thought he was incapable of loving someone?

"What are you doing on this train anyway, Mr Holmes? Not that I wasn't pleased to see you," Sarah added truthfully, "I've never had a more welcome sight in my life than you at the door of the compartment just now."

Holmes forced himself to snap out of his blue funk. Sarah obviously had a bad enough impression of him without him adding further to it.

"I have a case that takes me out of London. I had seen you board the train in London but I was running late and only just made the train as it was pulling out of Central Station. I had just finished briefing Watson on the case at the other end of the train and was coming to find you to ask you to join us for the remainder of the journey," he explained, suddenly brisk once again.

"How lovely! Yes, I'll come with you at once," Sarah said, picking up her small traveling case.

Sarah exited the compartment with Holmes just behind her. They were halfway through the deserted lounge carriage on their way down the train when Sarah saw a small, villainous looking man spring out from behind a chair where he had deliberately concealed himself. Holmes had turned his back for a moment to take a daily paper off one of the tables and did not see either the man or the revolver in his hand. With a feeling of horror, Sarah realised the man had laid in wait for Holmes.

Time suddenly slowed down to a trickle and instinctively, Sarah stepped in the direct line of fire as the man raised the gun and pulled the trigger. With a cry of frustration, the man's arm jerked slightly to one side and Sarah knew he had deliberately altered his shot at the last millisecond when he realised he wasn't going to get his mark. A split second later, another shot rang out and the man fell to the floor. As Sarah staggered sideways, her hand going to her side, she saw Watson with a gun standing at the lounge carriage door. Holmes grabbed Sarah's arm and then in one smooth movement, lifted her into his arms.

"You there, get the Guard!" Watson yelled to some person behind him and then picked up the gun that had fallen out of the hand of the man who had been shot.

"Watson, you need to do surgery immediately," Holmes said urgently, as Watson then ran over to them.

Watson glanced at Holmes for a moment. His friend's face was white to the lips. Watson had seen Holmes in a lot of tight spots, but he had never seen Holmes in this state. One of his hands was pressed against a spreading red stain on the side of Sarah's dress in an obvious attempt to stop the blood.

"It's just a flesh wound," Sarah said irritably, "You can put me down. Such a fuss!"

"I'll be the judge of that, Miss Mounteney. I'll get my bag. Holmes, take Miss Mounteney back to her compartment. I don't think you'll be dancing for a little while," Watson said firmly to Sarah.

Sarah sighed impatiently but then decided it was rather nice to be carried around by Holmes and she may as well enjoy it, as she had little choice about it. Maybe she was a touch delirious from loss of blood but she put her face against his chest and closed her eyes, deciding he smelled extremely good. She could hear his strong, quick heartbeat and it made her feel very calm.

Holmes was too panic-stricken to think about anything more than how serious the bullet wound was. He was afraid and he rarely felt fear. He could feel his pulse beating high in his throat. The amount of blood was making him feel sick with anxiety.

After carrying her back to her compartment, he sat holding her in his lap until Watson came back. Sarah sat calmly, her face against his waistcoat, one hand clinging to his jacket lapel.

"Lay her along the seat, Holmes. You'll have to leave. There isn't enough room to work with you in here," Watson said in business like tones.

Holmes did as he was told and after washing the blood from his hands, spent the next hour pacing outside the compartment, too anxious to even smoke.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: There has been a lot of speculation about whether Canon Holmes is a sociopath, but I think he fits the characteristics of someone with Aspergers (high-functioning autism) better. While Holmes is exceptionally clever, he is completely inept at reading the cues in interpersonal relationships or at understanding his own feelings. As such, he is unable to see that Sarah cares about him or make sense of the confusing whirl of emotions that she brings up in him. This means a lot of misunderstandings and missed opportunities along the way, but don't give up on this pair. They do care about each other a great deal…_

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 _Why is my pain perpetual, and my wound incurable, which refuseth to be healed?_

 _Jeremiah 15:18_

Finally Watson emerged, looking tired but quite cheerful.

"She was right. Just a flesh wound. The bullet went straight through and missed all her vital organs. In a few weeks, she'll be perfectly fine," he said, "she's all stitched up now. She just needs to stay still until the wound heals."

Holmes realised that his legs actually felt weak with relief.

"Good job, Watson," Holmes said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Watson grinned. "I need to stay with her until the ether wears off now," he replied, glad to see Holmes had some colour back in his face.

"What I don't understand Watson," Holmes said with a puzzled frown, "Is why that villain Crossley took a shot at Miss Mounteney. Why not just shoot me? That's what he was there for."

Watson looked at Holmes with a curious expression.

"He _was_ trying to shoot you, Holmes. I saw him aim for you when your back was turned for a second as I was coming up to the carriage door. Miss Mounteney deliberately stepped right in front of you. If Crossley hadn't altered his shot at the very last moment, Miss Mounteney would be dead," Watson explained earnestly.

Holmes simply stared at Watson uncomprehendingly, his face losing colour again.

"I'm sorry, Holmes. I thought you realised what had happened," Watson said, when he saw how shocked his friend was.

"No, I had no idea," Holmes said in a voice quite unlike his usual self.

"Go and have a brandy, man. I think you need it. I need to keep an eye on Miss Mounteney," Watson said kindly, turning to go back into his compartment. Watson knew his friend was profoundly disturbed and would want to be alone anyway.

Holmes found an empty compartment nearby and sank slowly onto one of the seats, taking out his pipe. He had no idea what to think. He could not think. He was still in shock. His mind revolved around the point that Sarah had deliberately stepped in front of a bullet to prevent him getting shot. It was only sheer good fortune that she was not dead. It was incomprehensible to him. He could not process what had happened. He had no former experience of that kind of self-sacrifice on his behalf in his life.

If Sarah had died…. His thin hands shook slightly as he filled his pipe. He couldn't even think about it. He would never have forgiven himself.

Holmes leaned forward suddenly, his angular face covered by his hands and his elbows resting on his knees, his pipe forgotten. What did it mean? Why had she done it?

All he knew was that Sarah should never be put in danger like that again because of him. He could not live with it.

A few days later, Sarah was allowed to get up. By this stage, they were staying at a small hotel in Cornwall. Holmes had carried her from the carriage into the hotel himself. He would not allow anyone else to take her. Sarah had grinned up at him the entire time, putting both arms around his neck, knowing perfectly well that it discomforted him and amusing herself by doing so.

Watson was observing her as she recovered and Holmes had delayed his case ostensibly until Watson could come with him, but really because he wanted to see how Sarah was progressing.

During this time, Sarah struggled to understand her own motivations. She did not know what she had hoped to achieve when she had stepped in front of the gun. Did she know, at some deep level, that the gunman would choose to deliberately miss if he couldn't get to Holmes? Or did she subconsciously consider Holmes' life more important than her own? If so, why?

Their first real meeting after the shooting was awkward to say the least. If Sarah had expected Holmes to say "thank you" and be done with it, she was to be disappointed.

They were sitting before the fire in the hotel's morning room. Holmes' face had hollowed out again, Sarah observed. He had dark shadows under his eyes like bruises. He hadn't looked so bad since he had been on cocaine. Had being shot at shaken him so much? Perhaps it had been more traumatic than he had let on. _It can't be very pleasant, knowing an enemy nearly succeeded at killing you,_ Sarah pondered.

"Your actions were very heroic, Miss Mounteney," Holmes said with stiff formality, staring at his pipe as he tamped it down. "However, I simply do not understand why you put yourself in danger like that."

 _He actually sounded disapproving_ , Sarah thought irritably.

"I don't know why either," Sarah said honestly, "I acted without thinking."

"You reacted without thinking," he repeated thoughtfully.

"Of course; there was no time to think," Sarah said with a shrug.

She could not tell Holmes something she did not comprehend herself, Sarah mused in the silence. She had a couple of theories, but no definite answer. Did she instinctively save his life because she was in love with him? If so, it was nothing like she had ever imagined love would be. Holmes irritated and sometimes infuriated her. He had often hurt her feelings. There were times when he deeply disappointed her. Of course, she still found him fascinating and attractive, but that wasn't love. Besides, how could you love a man with ice water instead of blood in his veins?

Holmes had been quietly mulling over what Sarah had said. It didn't give him the answer he was seeking, but it did clarify why Sarah could not explain her own actions.

"I lead a very dangerous life, Miss Mounteney. There are any number of men who would like to see me dead. Crossley is only one," Holmes said seriously, looking at the carpet as he smoked like a chimney.

Sarah looked at Holmes impatiently. _Well, duh!_ she thought.

"As I said, what you did was heroic but you should never risk yourself like that again," he continued in his didactic style.

"I hadn't planned to risk myself in the first instance," Sarah said, bothered by his paternalistic tone, "You don't plan something like that. You don't have time to think, you just react."

Holmes was silent for a few moments. He could see that the issue had much deeper roots than just the incident on the train and he felt responsible.

"I've been remiss. Watson introduced you to me as a mystery and you certainly are one, but both Watson and I very soon realised that you were alone, friendless and a bit lost. We tried to watch over you somewhat, but befriending you has simply put you in the way of danger," he finally said with quiet regret in his voice.

Sarah felt her chest go tight. Irritation suddenly turned to anger. Why couldn't he just say "thank you", she fumed? Holmes had to lecture her like she was a child rather than an equal. Then he had the nerve to tell her that the distrustful, frosty and sometimes downright disdainful way he had treated her since they first met was 'befriending' her!

Sarah's nerves were worn thin with constant pain, inactivity and worry over her recuperation and ability to dance again. She was not in the mood to be tactful, forbearing or forgiving.

"Mr Holmes, you and I have different ideas of friendship. I don't know if you even realise this, but during the time I've known you, you've often been cold, suspicious and insultingly rude. That's not my idea of a friend," Sarah said heatedly, her dark eyes narrowed.

If Sarah had stood up and punched him in the face, Holmes could not have been more astonished. In fact, he would have infinitely preferred it. Her words hurt far more than a straightforward hit to the jaw.

Something inside Holmes that had been unfurling like a leaf in the sunlight suddenly curled up on itself again. Something that had become warm suddenly cooled once more. He was instantly angry with himself. He had not guarded himself and now he was paying the price in unnecessary hurt. This had not happened since he was a boy. He could barely believe how incautious he had been.

Holmes' frame suddenly stiffened and before Sarah's eyes, he became the glittering eyed, distant and impassive featured Holmes she knew all too well.

"If I'm really so dreadful, perhaps you should have let Crossley shoot me," Holmes said incisively, in the chilly, ironic voice Sarah knew so well.

"Yes, next time I'll push you in front of the gun and then you won't be around to lecture me and treat me like a stupid child!" Sarah fired back, her eyes flashing.

Sarah wasn't interested in Holmes' frosty act. She had seen it too many times and it didn't intimidate or impress her.

Holmes face tightened and his thin lips compressed. He had asked for that, he supposed. It hurt nonetheless. However, he had had plenty of practice at hiding his real feelings and it was not difficult to do so again.

"I can see you're in no frame of mind to be reasonable," he said dispassionately and got up to leave. He had to leave, he was shaken.

At just that moment Watson came in followed by the housekeeper with a tea tray.

Sarah sat back in her chair and smiled cheerfully at the Doctor, her face transformed. It took Holmes' breath away. She never smiled with such affection at him. Then again, he was not the type of person who inspired affection, he acknowledged dourly.

Sarah suddenly noticed that Watson was watching her and Holmes strangely. "What is it?" Sarah asked curiously.

Watson opened his mouth then closed it again. He tried again but still nothing came out.

"Out with it, Watson!" Holmes demanded.

"It's just that I overheard some gossip in the dining room earlier," Watson said with some agitation, "I don't like to mention it…"

"Too late for delicacy," Holmes said ironically.

"There was talk that the two of you are engaged," Watson said, half-incredulously.

Sarah nearly spat out the tea she had just been given.

"Oh God, I'd completely forgotten about that," she said, horrified. She didn't think the gossip would travel quite _that_ fast. Sarah glanced at Holmes with dismay. He didn't look impressed.

Holmes was shocked, in fact. He would have thought there was plenty of time to squash any potential rumour that may have come out.

"We're not," Sarah said to Watson, putting him out of his misery. He did look confounded.

"Then why…?" Watson began.

"It was a little white lie I told a certain royal personage," Holmes said, cutting him off.

"The only royalty on the train was…" Watson started to say.

"Quite," Holmes interrupted once more.

"But why tell him that?" Watson asked disbelievingly, "It will be all over London in no time at all."

"He did it to save me from the King's advances," Sarah explained, suddenly tired of the whole ridiculous business and embarrassed as well.

Dr Watson stared at Holmes in shock. "He didn't…"

"He did!" Holmes replied, leaning his head back on the seat and closing his eyes. He suddenly felt tired. The whole business was having consequences he hadn't anticipated. He really didn't think anyone would find out and certainly not this fast. _Why had that blasted king felt the need to tell anyone_ , he thought savagely?

"That blaggard!" Watson said, "Why can't he leave honest, decent women alone?"

"Ballet girls don't have a reputation for being honest or decent," Sarah said, a trifle bitterly.

Holmes opened his eyes and examined Sarah from under half lowered lids. It was unlike her to sound bitter.

"But the King said himself that you have a reputation for being… what did he say…? 'Notoriously difficult to court'?" Holmes interjected languidly, "So it's not like he could possibly have assumed you were looking for just such an opportunity."

"It didn't stop him," Sarah said resentfully, realising that Holmes must have been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

"No, but news of an engagement did," Dr Watson said thoughtfully, "I wonder if it would have had the same effect if it had been anyone other than Holmes."

"Someone who wasn't potentially privy to his sordid little secrets?" Holmes said lethargically.

"Yes," Dr Watson said musingly, "You know, this pretend engagement to Holmes might afford very good protection for you in some ways."

"I think it would be likely to make me the prime target of every criminal on the Continent," Sarah countered briskly, "They might make a better job of shooting me next time," she added with a wry laugh.

Holmes suddenly drew his breath in sharply and sat up. "You must tell everyone that it is off and the break was acrimonious," he ordered, suddenly wide awake and deadly serious.

"I think that's the best plan," Sarah agreed immediately.

"I think it's too late for that if the gossip has already spread so fast," Watson said frankly, "Think about it, the fact that you were supposedly ever engaged at all is still going to make Ms Mounteney a target. They would still assume you could be blackmailed or would take stupid risks even for the sake of an ex-fiance. You've never been engaged before, after all," Watson added flatly.

"What has that to do with it?" Holmes asked frowning.

"So the relationship would be unique in your life. Your enemies aren't to know it was never genuine," he pointed out.

Holmes frowned heavily, "I acted too impulsively, I see," he said gravely, his thin face grim.

"Saying that the engagement has been broken won't protect Miss Mounteney. The best solution may be to keep the deception going in the meantime. Miss Mounteney will be protected from indecent proposals from the likes of Bohemian Royalty, at least," Watson said.

Sarah was getting a trifle annoyed that all this was being discussed as though she wasn't there.

"Well, I'm not convinced that a pretend acrimonious split isn't a good solution to a pretend engagement," Sarah said with a touch of asperity. "However, your cases and my tours would be legitimate reasons for us not to spend large amounts of time together, but I really don't like the idea of Mr Holmes being burdened with a ballet girl for a fiancé. It's hardly respectable."

"I don't think Mr Holmes is too concerned with respectability," Watson said wryly, "Besides, it will do his reputation no end of good to be the fiancé of one of the most sought after women on the Continent. Don't you think so Holmes?" There was definitely a mischievous twinkle in Watson's eye.

Holmes looked at his friend with an expression of martyred resignation.

Sarah caught the look and felt somewhat cynical. It wasn't her fault they were both in this pickle. It had been his idea to make up this false engagement, after all. She was happy to break it off.

"Don't worry, Mr Holmes. It will blow over soon then we can have a quietly respectable end to the engagement," she said curtly. "So what do we say if we're asked?" Sarah asked, turning to Watson.

"If anyone asks if you two are engaged, simply say 'yes' for now and leave it at that," he advised with a fatherly air.

"Well, I'm off to my cottage tomorrow and you two have to get on with Holmes' case," Sarah said with a feeling that this chapter was soon to be over.

"Are you sure you're quite well?" Watson asked kindly.

"I've been quite well for ages, thanks to you," she said with a warm smile, reaching out and putting her hand on Watson's arm gratefully for a moment.

"Yes, if Miss Mounteney is quite well again, we should push on. The Duke is impatient to have an answer," Holmes said impassively.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

 _I adjure you by the gazelles and does of the field: Do not arouse or awaken love until the time is right._

 _Song of Solomon 8:4_

Sarah waved them off the next day. Just as Watson and Holmes' carriage was about to leave the hotel, Sarah saw Holmes' spare frame jump from it and he ran over to her to thrust something into her hand.

"You had better wear it or people will be suspicious. It's no use if it's not done properly," he yelled over his shoulder, running back to the carriage which had already started moving.

Sarah waved and Watson shook his hat out of the carriage door window at her but once inside, Holmes stayed firmly there. Sarah opened her hand and saw a ring that she had noticed before on Holmes' long, nervous fingers. It was a very fine stone set in heavy gold. It must have been worth a fortune and Sarah was suddenly terrified of losing it. The very thought made her go hot and cold with horror. She made up her mind to get a plain gold ring somewhere in Cornwall for the sake of the deception and return his ring to him at the earliest opportunity.

Sarah pushed the ring onto the third finger of her left hand figuring it would be safer there than anywhere else. It did feel odd to have such an intimate item that she had associated with Holmes on her own finger. Its weight was a constant reminder of a man that she had not thought very much about for many months, who she frankly did not understand and at times, did not even like.

"What a complete mess!" Holmes barked at Watson, as soon as the carriage had left the hotel.

"I'm surprised you trusted her with that very valuable ring, Holmes. I know you're fond of it," Watson said contemplatively.

"Just a jeejaw," Holmes said, waving his now naked fingers dismissively, "If she manages to lose it, it won't be the end of the world. Anyhow, how else was I supposed to procure a ring for our so-called 'engagement' so quickly and while in wilds of Cornwall?" he added impatiently.

"Hmmm. Well, it does rather seem you have all the responsibility of an engagement without any of the pleasures of it," Watson agreed, trying and failing to hide a smile.

"What do you mean, Watson?" Holmes asked testily.

"Well, you're her protector now. An engaged girl is hardly likely to be propositioned by the likes of the Bohemian king. If any harm comes to her, it will not reflect well on you. On the other hand, you don't have any of the niceties of being engaged such as holding her hand or stealing kisses," Watson teased.

Holmes shot Watson a scornful look.

"I suppose you did not overhear the blazing row Miss Mounteney and I were having just before you walked in and announced that news of our so-called engagement had already spread like wildfire," he said with a touch of petulance.

"No, I was rather distracted by the news that my confirmed bachelor friend was about to be wed, to be honest," Watson said honestly, "what was the fight about?"

"I was trying to explain to Miss Mounteney that men like Crossley are very common in my line of work and she should not endanger herself in such a way. I simply don't understand why she did it. She was quite offensive about it in the end," Holmes said peevishly.

Watson looked a bit bemused.

"I would have thought it was obvious, Holmes. It is quite plain to me that Miss Mounteney protected you from Crossley's gun because she loves you," Watson said mildly.

When he saw the look of utter blank astonishment on his friend's face, he hastened to explain.

"I'm not saying that Miss Mounteney is in love with you in any romantic sense. She certainly does not behave like a woman in love. But I think, in some way, she loves you nonetheless. One thing is certain, no-one would step between another person and a gun unless they loved the other person very much. I've seen too much battle up close not to know that for sure," Watson said musingly, looking out of the carriage window and getting lost in thought.

Completely against his will and better judgment, the delicate thing that had furled in on itself during his fight with Sarah suddenly reappeared, stronger than before. Something warm and golden like sunshine spread through his veins. A different man with a different past would call it 'happiness' but it was too foreign a thing to Holmes to have a name.

Holmes slouched in his seat, his long legs sprawled before him in the carriage. He crossed his arms and frowned slightly, unable to make sense of any of it.

Watson did not notice, lost in thought of battles fought in other lands on other days with other companions.

When Sarah finally got to her cottage, there was a group of people already waiting on the lane. When they saw Sarah overseeing her luggage being unloaded, they rushed over.

"She's wearing a ring!" a man's voice said and suddenly someone grabbed my forearm and a puff of smoke momentarily blinded her. They had taken a photo of it. Sarah suddenly noticed they all had notebooks and it struck her that they were journalists. They certainly behaved with the same pack mentality of the paparazzi in modern times.

"It is true then, Miss Mounteney, that you're engaged to the famous detective Mr Holmes?" a different journalist to the one who had grabbed her arm asked.

Sarah's first instinct was to say, "No, it's not true! How ridiculous! Now go away!" because, to be honest, it did feel ridiculous to her. The very idea of Holmes being engaged to anyone, let alone Sarah, was utterly preposterous. Then she reminded herself that it wasn't as though it was a real engagement. It was like playing a part on the stage. That thought made it much easier to get through the barrage of questions before she could make her escape into the cottage.

"Yes, we are engaged," Sarah said and reminded herself to smile as though saying so made her happy.

"When did this happen?" another journo asked.

"Very recently," Sarah assured him, watching the porters load her luggage into the cottage so she could gauge when to start edging towards it.

"There's been no sightings of the two of you together recently although you've been friends of Holmes and Watson since you arrived in London," yet another journalist asked suspiciously.

"Well, we wished to keep it a secret until after the Season ended," Sarah said, thinking quickly and hoping Holmes would see the articles before any journalists waylaid him. They seemed to accept this.

The porters had noticed the reporters trying to block Sarah's way and had stepped in to make a passage for her. She calmly opened the cottage door and closed it behind her, turning the key in the lock. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. They would be satisfied with the picture of the ring and the confirmation of the 'engagement' for a story – at least for now. However, it did make difficulties for giving the ring back to Holmes, Sarah realised. She would have to invent a story as to why the ring was now different. Sarah sighed heavily. She was too tired to think about it anymore. Between all the traveling (and it was uncomfortable and inconvenient like the books said), her sudden so-called 'engagement', the pain from her wound and dealing with the journalists, Sarah was quite worn out for one day.

It was a few days before Holmes had any peace to think any further about the strange incidents on the train. He had been traveling to Devon to investigate a rather odd matter referred to him by an acquaintance from university which involved the theft of some supposedly cursed heirloom emeralds somehow connected to the ghost of a monk. It was all too fantastical for Holmes' taste but he could hardly refuse a request from that quarter, particularly as it involved one of Devon's first families.

It had taken three full days and two sleepless nights to clear the little matter up, but he had been rewarded handsomely at least.

Once he had had a chance to sleep and recover somewhat, he had seen the newspapers with news of his pretend engagement including a great deal of libelous comment about his work. He sank into a deep gloom and filled his bedroom with a thick, toxic fog of tobacco smoke. Not even Watson could get a word out of him.

It had been exactly has he had described to Sarah. He and Watson had been on the same train and was coming to her compartment to invite her to join them. Of course, being on the same train had been entirely deliberate on his part. It had been quite some time since he had checked on Sarah and he wanted to see with his own eyes that she was doing well.

He had seen the King disappear into her compartment as he started down the carriage, but the King had obviously not seen him. He had swiftly followed and listened silently at the door. His rage had steadily grown as he had listened to the King's impudent and degrading suggestions. The fury felt like a balloon swelling in his chest until he thought he couldn't contain it any longer. He had not dared go in until Sarah had made it quite clear she was not interested. Really, what respectable woman would have been? The King was merely suggesting a life of thinly veiled prostitution. He was asking her to give up everything – her reputation, good name, freedom, home and career in exchange for degradation, to be an outcast from society. What was the compensation to be? The wealth that her dancing would earn her in time anyway. It was not his place to interfere in Sarah's affairs, he was not her father. However, when the King persisted, he could stand it no longer.

He knew that simply walking into the compartment and introducing himself as Sarah's acquaintance would have been enough to break up the tete-a-tete. It would have been all that was needed in those circumstances. It would be a long time before the king could corner her like that again. However, he had announced their engagement instead, a quite unnecessarily melodramatic tactic. Why?

Remembering the King's insolence and presumption made Holmes angry all over again. Perhaps that's why he had made such a theatrical gesture. Perhaps he was hoping to make up for the king being so demeaning by making a point that Sarah was worth something better – _at least for a different sort of man_ , he thought hurriedly. He wasn't the marrying kind, a point which Sarah herself had been at some pains to point out, he thought sullenly.

Holmes was angry with himself. He had been so careful to avoid entanglements with women for years, quite aware that his chosen profession would endanger anyone he was involved with. He had put Sarah in harm's way and she had been hurt. If Watson had not been there to perform surgery immediately, she could have died from loss of blood. A clear memory of holding Sarah's small form helplessly as warm blood oozed through his fingers came to him suddenly. He was not used to feeling powerless and the fear that had gripped him was unprecedented in his life. He felt light-headed at the recollection. Now as his fiancé, pretend or not, she was vulnerable to his enemies.

Added to all this, he had not wanted to distract his concentration and strict rationality with strong emotion of any sort. Well, it was too late for that as far as Sarah was concerned, he brooded. His emotions had become both ungovernable and unfathomable in regard to her. He thought the frail thing unfurling within him could be neatly and permanently folded away again, but he had learned in the past few days that this was not the case. It grew of its own accord, unmindful of any rational wish of his. Not only did it grow, but it grew like a wild thing. It could not be tamed or trained in any shape that suited him.

He failed to see why the idea of him being married was quite so incomprehensible to Sarah, but she obviously thought it was. It was true, he never had been in love before, but it wasn't impossible. There was no need for her to look quite so bemused at the idea. He must seem a very odd duck, he pondered glumly.

Although he had not intended for the engagement to happen, he found he was not at all sorry. At least while they were pretending to be engaged, she was unable to become engaged to anyone else, a situation that Holmes already knew would make him very disturbed. It would also make it harder for her to get to know other men. They would be far less likely to approach her now.

Sarah had wanted to back out of it immediately, but Watson had frightened them both into leaving things as they were for now. If any of his personal enemies ever went after Sarah deliberately, he would never forgive himself. He found it impossible to forgive himself for the wound she was already carrying on his behalf. He simply had to use his network to keep an eye on her.

They led pretty separate lives anyway, he mused. It had been obvious to him for some months that Sarah had been avoiding both himself and Watson. The rational, suspicious part of him surmised that she was hiding something but his instinctive, intuitive self told him that she was still offended despite his recent efforts to be cordial and more relaxed.

Then there was the final horrendous fight at the hotel. He still could not comprehend it. His mind still shied away from it. He had simply been trying to warn her that something of the sort could happen again and she was not to take risks. He certainly did not want her taking any more bullets and definitely not for his sake. It was all very well being heroic, but the cost was too high and the on-going danger too real. He simply did not believe that she really understood the realities of his work.

He thought that he and Watson had befriended her, but she clearly did not see him in that light. It was true, he had been unforgivably icy and mistrustful in the beginning. He simply knew no other way to deal with the overwhelming affect she had on his senses at times. That was a long time ago, however. He had worked so hard to overcome that first bad impression and they had had pleasant encounters since then or so he had thought. Clearly, his recent efforts had not made much of an impression.

Something about what he said had infuriated her or perhaps it was something he had not said, Holmes suddenly thought. Had he actually thanked her for saving his life? He couldn't remember. Perhaps he hadn't.

Holmes took the pipe out of his mouth and frowned. Had he really been such a dolt and so ungrateful? He had been so keen to lecture her on the dangers surrounding him that he had not even acknowledged the astonishingly brave and selfless thing she had done.

Holmes could feel his face burning. He felt ashamed and embarrassed. She had been a real hero and he'd lectured her like she was an uncomprehending child. The truth was, he had avoided facing the extraordinary thing she had done for him by treating her like she was a bit dense. No wonder she was angry. And why had he avoided facing this extraordinary thing? Because he had no idea why she had done it.

Watson's theory was typically simplistic – that Sarah's motivation was simply that she loved him. However, Watson had not overheard Sarah saying that Holmes was not even a friend. Could you love someone who you did not consider a friend? Perhaps - in his youth, he had loved people who had not returned his love. It was not a mistake he had made as a man. Sarah did not strike him as the sort of woman who would throw her love away on someone worthless. There were only two possibilities. Either Watson was wrong, she did not love him, and her self-sacrifice had been motivated by something entirely different. Or Watson was right; she did love him in some way despite not viewing him as a friend because she still saw something worthwhile in him. If it was the latter, she would be frustrated with him. _There had certainly been plenty of evidence of that_ , he acknowledged dourly.

It was no good trying to figure it all out like a logical puzzle, he finally accepted with a sigh of aggravation. When it came to motivations of the heart, logic was useless.

The idea that Sarah may love him was one that Holmes did not want to cling to. He did not want to suffer the devastation when the proof came that Watson was wrong. From a young age, he had set up elaborate protections for himself – so elaborate that he himself had forgotten how sensitive he had been as a boy. The repression, the forgetfulness, was part of the fortress around his heart. He would not allow those walls to be breached until he was sure.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 _I do not_ _regret_ _it; though I did_ _regret_ _it._

2 Corinthians 7:8

Holmes put off visiting the Diogenes Club for some time after he got back to London. He didn't want to face Mycroft. He had a pretty good idea what his older brother would say. Finally, he reluctantly made his way there after the dinner hour one evening.

"I wondered when you would be by," Mycroft said, gesturing to a folded paper by his armchair. Holmes saw at a glance that it contained one the hated articles about his engagement, "I thought I would be one of the first to know," he added, raising his shaggy brows.

Holmes scowled like a schoolboy and slouched in his chair.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me about it?" Mycroft persisted, obviously amused.

Holmes dug his pipe out of his pocket and lit it quickly, his movements tense and agitated.

"It's a false engagement, Mycroft. Designed to protect the young lady from insulting propositions," he finally replied tensely.

Mycroft made a derogatory noise.

"And how did such a strange arrangement come to be?" Mycroft asked disbelievingly.

Holmes' lips thinned in annoyance with his brother and he proceeded to tell his brother about the strange adventure on the train. Mycroft listened with great interest and a measure of surprise.

"The King of Bohemia, you say?" Mycroft said incredulously after a pause, "doesn't the man have more political sense than that?" Mycroft shook his great head ominously, "I see troubled times ahead for the Kingdom of Bohemia with such a king on its throne."

Holmes smoked moodily in the silence. He intensely disliked explaining himself to his brother, but he would have to sooner or later, so best to do so in his own timing rather than when his brother summoned him.

"It seems rather a drastic action, Sherlock – getting yourself engaged merely to protect a ballet girl's honour," Mycroft observed mildly, watching his brother out of shrewd eyes.

"It was a bit hasty," Holmes agreed, "an interruption probably would have sufficed."

"It's not like you to be hasty," Mycroft observed dryly. "Well, how do you get out of this entanglement?" Mycroft demanded, "the girl can't seriously expect to have her name associated with ours," he added bluntly.

Holmes raised his dark brows.

"No, she would be descending. She is distantly related to the Kent Mounteneys," he drawled, secretly rather pleased to put Mycroft in his place. Mycroft could be a bit of a snob, but Holmes had never seen any reason to cling to their old position and title. There hadn't been much honour attached to it and in his experience dealing with the aristocracy, there wasn't any more honour among them than any other class. Holmes refused to be awed by title or status. Also, why should his brother sneer at Sarah just because of her profession? She was just trying to survive, as they both were themselves.

"Is she?" Mycroft said, genuinely surprised, "Still, it doesn't matter. She is a ballet girl and you must disentangle yourself," he said flatly, after a pause.

"Miss Mounteney insisted that the engagement be broken at once for the same reasons," Holmes said coolly.

 _You weren't expecting that, were you brother?_ Holmes thought with amusement.

"Well, she's a very sensible girl and she's right," Mycroft stated.

"It was Watson who argued her out of it and it took some doing," Holmes continued.

"Why would he do that?" Mycroft said irritably.

"For the same reason we pretended to get engaged, to protect her from the likes of the Bohemian King. She is often treated quite insultingly," Holmes explained with a disgusted look. Holmes' intensely moral nature was affronted by some the behaviour he had observed.

"Ballet girls generally are treated insultingly. It's not right, but there you are. She chose her profession. Why is it your responsibility?" Mycroft argued impatiently.

"It's not. It just worked out that way," Holmes replied crisply, "It doesn't matter, Mycroft. Miss Mounteney will fall in love one day and this phony engagement won't be necessary," Holmes said with a dismissive wave of his long, thin fingers. He spoke lightly, but Holmes knew what he said was true and the knowledge sat like a weight in his chest.

"What about the family name, Sherlock?" Mycroft persisted.

"What name? The estate is gone and the name buried under disgrace. We have nothing to protect, father destroyed it," Holmes said with an elegant shrug, impatient with his brother's pomposity.

The corners of Mycroft's mouth turned down. He knew what Holmes said was true, but he didn't want to hear it. As the eldest son and heir, the loss of the estate and the family honour cut deep.

"Really, if Miss Mounteney was more worldly, she would have avoided me like the plague and refused to know me in case it destroyed her chances of a truly good match," Holmes observed thoughtfully, "We're not really respectable anymore."

"Of course, it doesn't hurt you to be known as the man who successfully courted such a sought after young woman," Mycroft insinuated slyly, his pale eyes twinkling with sudden amusement.

"Yes, the papers have been very kind to me," Holmes replied sarcastically, still stinging from the journalists' words.

"Oh never mind them, they're just jealous, Sherlock. They think the engagement is real, after all," Mycroft said with a wheezing noise that passed as his laugh.

Holmes sighed deeply and changed the subject to his recent successful case regarding the Red Circle.

Sarah settled quite cheerfully into her cottage in Cornwall. She had only brought practice and walking clothes with her as she had no intention of being even slightly social. This was soon taken out of her hands however, when it became obvious that the whole of Cornwall was aware that she was there. Sarah didn't realise that fame in London spread as far as Cornwall. People popped in at all times of day. She took to leaving a note on my door when she was practicing so that she wouldn't be disturbed otherwise it was hard to do as much as an hour's practice without someone knocking on the door. Sarah also took to spending as much of the rest of her time out of doors along the beaches and coastline as she could, taking picnic lunches with her. Otherwise she was forced to spend all her time receiving and talking about the 'glamorous' life of a ballet star. Sarah tried to tell those that she encountered on her first few days (before she figured out how to avoid them) how hard dancers had to work and what long hours dancing took up but there were all convinced it was nothing but pretty costumes, sparkling parties, socialising with the upper classes and glamour. It just goes to show, Sarah thought, that people will believe what they want to before they will believe what is true.

The papers splashed the 'engagement' all over the society pages.

 **Celebrated Dancer To Marry Reclusive Detective**

Miss Sarah Mounteney, 23, the Principal Soloist and star of the English Ballet is engaged to Mr Sherlock Holmes, 32, of 221B Baker Street. Miss Mounteney is wearing a stunning engagement ring with what is obviously a priceless stone. Mr Holmes is best known for meddling in British Police affairs, styling himself as a 'Private Detective'. His exploits are best known through the published works of his friend and roommate, Dr Watson of Paddington.

Mr Holmes is considered a controversial figure by many both within and without the Police Service with a reputation for being a recluse and a notorious misanthropist, and having many strange habits including keeping odd hours and mixing with questionable sectors of society. He is known to recruit and pay street waifs for information, to dabble in obscure branches of science and to have no acquaintances outside his self-styled 'profession' apart from Dr Watson.

When Miss Mounteney was asked why their courtship had not been known to society in general, she replied that they had wanted to keep their engagement secret until after the Season was finished in London. When asked how their romance began, Miss Mounteney did not answer and drove off in her waiting carriage.

Miss Mounteney is due to begin a tour of the Continent in a few weeks time, so her marriage to Mr Holmes will have to be put on hold for some months until her return. It does not appear that Mr Holmes will be accompanying his fiancé on her tour.

The question remains however, what does an attractive, glamorous and famous woman like Miss Mounteney, who enjoys such brilliant prospects, see in an odd recluse of such peculiar habits? We know that Miss Mounteney has received much attention from many eligible bachelors although she is well-known for her refusal to be courted by anyone. Why would a woman who can choose from among the best young men Britain has to offer, choose Mr Sherlock Holmes of obscure and dubious reputation? Why would a woman like Miss Mounteney, who lives such a glittering and celebrated life, tie herself down so quickly to such a controversial figure? Why would she not leave her future open to all possibilities as she ventures forth to conquer the Continent as she has so assuredly conquered Britain? It is a mystery worthy of Mr Holmes himself.

When Sarah saw the papers, she nearly _died_. This was the worst of the articles but the others were not much better. It was obvious that Holmes must have ruffled some pretty important feathers during his career. Sarah didn't know where they got the idea that her life was so glamorous or glittering or that she had such brilliant prospects but they were determined to make others think so. In reality, Mr Holmes was far more respectable than Sarah. He was a gentleman, she was a ballet girl. The article should really have been slanted the other way. In reality, Sarah would be the one to be lucky to get an engagement ring from a gentleman. It was hardly a catch for Mr Holmes to end up with a ballet girl but not only did they make out it was but that he had been absurdly lucky! Sarah was embarrassed. It would be hard to look Holmes in the eye after this.

She had only been able to do basic exercises during her holiday as she still had pain from her wound. Watson had warned her not to do too much in case it slowed the healing process down. Going for long walks did cause a bit of pain, particularly at the beginning of the holiday, but she couldn't bear to stay in the cottage and receive visitors all day.

Usually she would walk down to a favourite cove which was always deserted. By the time she got there, her side was hurting enough that she had to lie down on the rocks curled up for a while.

She had had a lot of time to contemplate the strange events leading up to her stay in Cornwall. What she had told Holmes was true, she had not had time to think before she stepped between Holmes and that bullet. All she knew was that she had seen the gun pointing at Holmes' back and knew he would surely die, and she panicked. Somehow, Holmes dying had seemed like the worst thing that could happen right at that moment – worse than getting shot herself. She had no idea why she had felt that way about the death of someone who spent most of their time either making her angry, hurting her feelings or deeply disappointing her. Many times as she thought about it down by the sea, hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She knew it was a form of reaction, a kind of post-traumatic stress thing.

She didn't remember much of what happened after she was shot; things were disjointed and hazy. She remembered Holmes grabbing her arm and then picking her up. She remembered putting her face against his chest and then not much afterward until she woke up from the ether with Watson watching her, his kind face frowning with worry.

As to their subsequent argument in the hotel, her anger had sprung as much from disappointment as from irritation with his behaviour. She wasn't sure what she had expected after saving Holmes' life, but a patronising lecture wasn't it. Maybe she had hoped that the distance between them would have magically disappeared; that he would no longer be suspicious of her. Perhaps she had hoped gratitude would bring out some genuine warmth in him. Even as she examined these forlorn hopes, she realised how far-fetched they were. Suspicion and coldness were as much a part of Holmes as spots were to a leopard. Saving his life was not going to turn that leopard into any other kind of animal. Sarah realised she was being ridiculous and pushed the thoughts out of her mind.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

… _that your words may be tested to see whether_ _there is_ _any_ _truth_ _in you._

 _Genesis 42:16_

Sarah was nearly at the end of her visit, not particularly looking forward to going back to London for two weeks before the tour on the Continent began when she heard two familiar voices calling to her as she lay curled up after her walk, enjoying the view out of sea.

"Hie, Miss Mounteney!"

It was Watson calling and hurrying down the cliffside path with Holmes making up the distance more easily with his long legs. As they both came running up, Sarah sat up and waved, realising who it was.

"Why the rush?" Sarah asked with a smile.

"Oh, we thought something had happened. You were lying so still," Watson said breathlessly, his face a little pink.

Sarah glanced at Holmes. Unlike Watson, he looked deathly pale. She felt a bit startled. Had he been unwell recently, she wondered? Or had he started using cocaine again?

"I always lie down after the walk here. My side hurts a bit," she said reassuringly, "It's much better now than it was."

"Oh, that's good!" Watson said, starting to get his breath back, "You gave us a bit of scare!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," Sarah said ruefully, glancing once more at Holmes. He was staring out to sea, his sharp profile etched against the grey blue of the horizon, and his colour looked more normal. Sarah wondered if she had imagined his ghastly pallor just moments before. "Did you successfully conclude your case?" Sarah asked politely.

"It was a triumph, Miss Mounteney!" Watson said excitedly, "Holmes here is a genius!"

Holmes turned his attention back to them and looked his most smug, but merely said in a mild voice, "Ah, you exaggerate Watson. It was quite easy to deduce once all the facts were uncovered." He was obviously pleased by Watson's praise, however and Sarah didn't have the heart to begrudge him that pleasure.

"Tell me more about it," Sarah asked with genuine interest looking from one to the other.

"Before we do, tell us why you're down here by the sea rather than in your charming cottage," Watson asked, "We waited at your front gate for nearly an hour before a local happened by and told us you spent nearly all daylight hours on the coastal paths and on the beach."

"I'm hiding," Sarah confessed in a small voice, "the locals won't leave me alone. They keep visiting me all the time. The only way to get any peace is to be outdoors all day."

Holmes actually laughed again. He threw back his dark head and made that odd barking sound that was obviously supposed to be a laugh. Sarah jumped a bit and then stared at him. She still couldn't get used to the idea that he could laugh.

"She's almost as much of a recluse as you, Holmes," Watson said with amusement, "Perhaps this engagement isn't so strange after all."

"Phony engagement," Sarah clarified but Holmes was already scowling again.

"I think you handled the press very well," Watson commended Sarah.

"I couldn't believe they were there so soon," she admitted.

"I liked the article about Holmes being a recluse and a notorious misanthropist, and all the speculation about what a young, pretty, glamorous, famous dancer could possibly see in him," Watson said, laughing outright.

Holmes' mouth thinned ominously but he refused to comment.

"I tried to say as little as possible," Sarah said quietly, still embarrassed by it all.

"You succeeded," Holmes said succinctly, "What you didn't tell them, they then proceeded to speculate about."

"I couldn't make anything up in case they got hold of you and you told them something different," Sarah complained but gave Holmes an apologetic look anyway. The papers had been merciless.

"Fortunately, they didn't think to look for me where I was," Holmes said loftily.

"And you both were going to tell me about it," Sarah reminded them gently, "But first, why are you both here? Not that I'm not pleased to see you, of course."

"Watson thought it would look strange if I didn't visit my fiancé at least once in Cornwall even if I was currently working on a case. As he pointed out, a newly engaged couple would not willingly be separated for two full weeks," Holmes said edgily, "And the locals will gossip and tattle, that is for sure!"

Sarah nodded acceptance of this reasoning. It was true. England was a much smaller place in Victorian times in a lot of ways than it would be in centuaries to come. The connections between people were closer even if the distances seemed far greater because there were simply less people (although in London, it sometimes didn't feel like it). Everything an individual did was far more observed in these times. Sarah found it exhausting to always keep up appearances.

The trio whiled away the afternoon discussing the case. It was not one Sarah was familiar with and must have been one of Holmes very early cases. Watson was an excellent story teller and Holmes provided the detail. Holmes and Watson were staying in a local hotel nearby and taking the train back the next morning. Sarah had planned to follow them back to London in three day's time originally but had already decided to stay on an extra week. It would still leave her a week in London before taking off on tour which was enough time to tie up any loose ends before leaving England for quite a long time.

That evening they made plans to have dinner at the hotel Holmes and Watson were staying at.

"There is no point making the effort to come here unless the locals have seen the two of you together," Dr Watson said.

As it turned out, Sarah found it a pleasant evening. Holmes and Watson made sure they took a booth in the far corner of the dining area so that they could be seen but not overheard. Every local who came in for a drink or dinner came over to pay their respects (or more to the point, to have a good look at Holmes and Sarah). Fortunately, it was not busy that night. Sarah was a bit dubious about eating the food as there were no health and safety standards in Victorian England in public houses. She nibbled at the bread and poked her fork into the stew but didn't eat much. Holmes made no pretense of eating at all and merely smoked like a chimney the entire time. Sarah was still getting used to the idea that people could smoke wherever they liked.

Holmes had had enough time to observe Sarah to know she was meticulous about her diet. She ate far more fruit and vegetables as a proportion of her diet than most people and was careful about including certain foods such as red meat, milk and eggs. He suspected it had something to do with maintaining her health as a dancer. He had already known she would not touch food in a public house. She also tended to cook for herself as she was particular about food hygiene.

Holmes also never ate in public houses, but for different reasons. Food with strong odours often made him feel nauseous. He did not like having a full stomach and if could get away with skipping a meal, he often would. He liked the slightly light-headed feeling that came when he hadn't eaten for most of the day. It had taken him a long time to figure out exactly why. Finally, he understood that the oddly exhilarated feeling came from a feeling of power and control. A voice from his subconscious, so quiet that it had taken decades to hear it, whispered silently, " _you can't make me look like you, father. You can't make me eat and grow bulky. You can't control my body or my appetite. There is something still my own – some part of me that I still possess and you can't have"._ His slender frame was his unconscious rebellion, his red rag to his father's desire to control. Now, as a man, whenever he felt that some part of his life was spiraling out of his control, a case he was struggling to solve or a problem that could not immediately be overcome, his appetite would diminish – there was always something under his control.

"The journalists have been very suspicious about your so-called engagement. No-one had any inkling," Watson mused, breaking in on Holmes' reverie. "Then again, it's not as though you were unacquainted," he added mildly.

"But we hadn't been seen together socially for some time," Sarah pointed out to Watson.

"That's true," he acknowledged, "You were snubbing us!" he joked.

"That's not true!" Sarah upbraided him and laughed, "You both are busy gentlemen as I am myself. Then there was the tour. Only Mrs Laidley has time for me!" Sarah complained quite unfairly.

"That ring you're wearing is a memento from the royal family of Holland," Holmes said, changing the subject with unusual tact.

"I will give it back to you once I'm in London again," Sarah said to Holmes, "It's too valuable to keep any longer than necessary. Having the responsibility for it makes me very nervous."

Holmes looked alarmed. "Do you think that's a good idea, Miss Mounteney? The press have a photo of it now. What would they say if you suddenly appeared without it?"

"Oh, I'd tell them the truth – that it is too valuable to wear when I'm on and off a stage all the time and it's in safe keeping," Sarah improvised.

"Probably very sensible," Watson agreed.

Holmes had gone back to looking uninterested in the debate which Sarah took for acquiescence.

Sarah told stories about the characters she had met in the Theatre, and Watson told us some funny stories from his practice in Paddington and then told Sarah the story about The Red Circle which Sarah already knew from having read Watson's account in the future. Sarah reminisced about certain facts she remembered.

Holmes, who had been contemplating infinity outside the pub window, suddenly whipped his dark head around to stare at her.

"How did you know those details? They have not been published anywhere as yet. Watson, have you told Miss Mounteney about the case before now?" he demanded.

Watson looked just as astounded as Holmes.

"No never, Holmes," Watson replied with an almost frightened look on his face.

"I read about them where I come from. Many of your cases have been documented by Dr Watson and they're published. Anyone can read about them in the future," Sarah explained tiredly.

Holmes and Watson exchanged a look. Holmes face tightened into a mask, but he did not immediately say anything. Any time that the subject of Sarah's time travel came up, his hackles would rise. All his doubts and fears that Sarah was lying and being manipulative for some deeply hidden motive would come immediately to the surface.

"People that far into the future will still read my accounts of Holmes' cases?" Watson was saying with an expression of delight.

Holmes shot him a look and Watson clammed up.

"Both of you will be very famous," Sarah said quietly, knowing she was unlikely to be believed, at least by Holmes.

Holmes made an impatient noise of incredulity which grated on Sarah's nerves. He failed to see why anyone would be interested in Watson's highly coloured and romanticised re-tellings of his cases. It would be different if they were scientific and factual, then students of crime could make of them. He could not imagine what interest they could be to anyone else.

"I don't know how you found out those facts regarding The Red Circle Miss Mounteney, but if what you say is true, then tell us both about the case of the Speckled Band," he challenged.

Sarah could see that he was suddenly, once again, the icy and distrustful Holmes of old. A familiar sense of irritation began to make itself felt.

However, the Speckled Band was one of her favourite cases and she would find it easy to describe the detail which she proceeded to do.

Watson's eyes grew bigger as Sarah described things that had happened when only Watson and Holmes had been present, things that Holmes had not even told Mycroft when dryly describing the facts of the case.

Holmes sat as motionless as stone, his face expressionless and frozen. He felt appalled as he listened. Most of the facts, Sarah could have found out from third parties if determined enough. However, there was no possible way that Sarah could have known about the baboon that he and Watson had encountered upon the lawn of Stoke Moran on the way to the house in the dark of night. There was no way that she could have known they heard the cheetah outside the window as they waited in the dark bedchamber for hours. How had she known that Holmes had a candle and matches as well as the cane? He had not mentioned such a trivial matter to anyone including the police force. How did she know that Holmes had straightened the poker that Dr Roylott had twisted? No-one else had been in the room and neither had mentioned it to anyone. It did not bear on the case. Finally, when she quoted Holmes' exact words to Watson in the bedchamber at the start of their vigil and then when the swamp adder came through the ventilator ("You see it, Watson? You see it?"), the blood drained from Holmes' face. No-one knew the exact wording of their conversation except for himself and Watson. It was as though she had been there herself, watching everything they did.

When Sarah had finished, the three sat in silence for a long time. Watson and Holmes looked pale, but did not make eye contact with each other.

"It's late, Miss Mounteney. Perhaps we should all retire. Holmes, you will need to escort Miss Mounteney to her cottage. The locals will be watching," Watson said at last.

Sarah smiled wryly when she saw Holmes' dismayed expression. She was not exactly keen on his company at this point in time either. There was something disdainful in his mistrust and it hurt her pride and deeply annoyed her.

The cottage was within easy walking distance of the hotel and they took off with a borrowed lamp from the hotel. The wind was whipping in off the sea and Sarah carried her bonnet rather than lose it. It was still a mystery to Sarah why women wore hats even at night in these times.

It was such a nice walk in the cold night air with the fresh sea wind blowing around them and millions of stars above them not outshone by myriads of electric lights as they were in modern times that Sarah forgot to make polite conversation with Holmes. She doubted he would have appreciated her efforts anyway. He strode along beside Sarah, waving his cane in one hand and holding up the lamp with the other, as silent as Sarah was herself. It was just as well Sarah could not see Holmes' expression in the darkness. It looked carved in granite. He had had a nasty shock and his response was to withdraw completely.

Less than half an hour later, the cottage lights were in view and Holmes finally broke the silence.

"You have a gift, Miss Mounteney," he said, his clear incisive voice startling her after so long, "It is a rare gift among the general population but almost unknown amongst your sex. You have the gift of keeping silence."

This was unexpected. "I generally don't speak unless I have something to say," Sarah replied, "Of course, in society one is expected to make conversation and to be entertaining to others. I quite often find it exhausting," she confessed.

"It is exhausting! Particularly when one's energies are taken up with other demands so much of the time. It is too much to ask to be entertaining as well," he agreed emphatically.

Mr Holmes saw Sarah to the door and made sure she was inside before taking off back along the road to the Hotel again. Sarah had enjoyed the brief walk in the dark night so much that she went out of the back door of the cottage, putting a candle in the window first to afford some light. The stars stretched out to infinity in the deep blackness of the sky and Sarah could hear the waves lapping at the cliffs somewhere below. She took her hair out (still only shoulder length) and let the wind whip it about as it blew her heavy skirts around her legs. Sarah stayed out there a long time and she forgot she was a ballet star or that she was somebody's pretend fiancé and the centuaries all melded into one.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 _I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice; for I stand in doubt of you._

 _Galatians 4:20_

Holmes did not have such a peaceful night. Why was it, just when he thought he was repairing his relationship with Sarah, did the subject of her origin have to come up and resurrect all his old doubts and suspicions?

It was true that every bit of evidence that he had gathered over the past two years clearly reinforced that what she was saying was the truth. Nothing he had found contradicted it. _If only what she claimed was not so preposterous,_ he thought savagely.

How did he cure this suspicion that stood between them? He had no means of finally, empirically proving what she said was true and he had certainly been unable to prove it untrue.

Despite all these suspicions, he seemed to react to her more strongly as time went by. When he'd seen her small form curled up in her white dress in the cove this morning, the world had seemed to tilt under his feet. Time slowed down and his feet felt like lead as he and Watson ran down the last hundred metres or so to the cove. He was sure one of his enemies had found her. As soon as she had sat up and waved, it seemed like he could suddenly draw breath again and the world immediately had colour once more.

London seemed flat and stale to Sarah when she got back. During her first week back, she bought a good gold ring very cheaply from a local pawnbroker and gave Holmes' ring to Mrs Hudson with pleas to ensure it got safely back into Holmes' hands as quickly as possible.

When she got back to her house in Oxford Street, she noticed an urchin in the crowd across the road, propped up against a lamppost. She had seen him many times on her street before and never given it much thought. She unlocked the front door and went inside but glanced back out the front window. The boy was still there and he was looking at her front door. Suddenly the king's words came back to her, y _ou are very closely surrounded by invisible forces._ She remembered that Holmes had an army of street urchins, the "irregulars" that he employed for many of his cases. _Surely this invisible force couldn't be connected in any way with Holmes_ , Sarah thought incredulously. Sarah glanced back out the window and the boy was now bouncing a small rubber ball on the pavement, but looked sideways at her front door now and then.

Sarah frowned. What else had the king said? _They guard you well and, like shadows, they are completely untraceable._ Nothing could be more invisible and untraceable than street urchins, but who would they be reporting to? The king had also said, _It is impossible to penetrate your world if these unseen guardians do not wish it. You must have an immensely powerful protector._ The irregulars could not prevent a king contacting a mere ballerina if he wished and Holmes could not do so on his own either. If Holmes did have anything to do with these 'unseen forces', he must be working with a bigger group.

Sarah shook her head impatiently. It was ridiculous. The king was exaggerating, of course. There were no 'invisible forces' and Holmes was certainly not involved. Why would he orchestrate such a thing for her protection? They were not family and she had not commissioned him to do so.

She looked out at the street and the boy again and decided to try an experiment. The boy was standing near a fruit stall. Sarah decided it was time to buy some fresh fruit.

Sarah was across the cobbled street in a matter of minutes and looked over the display. Fruit was expensive in Victorian times, having to be transported from the country. The only fruit available was what was in season. In winter, it was preserves or nothing. Sarah chose some rosy apples and paid the stall holder. She glanced around. There were no other urchins in sight. Obviously, Oxford Street was not a popular hang out for homeless children.

She pulled a large apple casually from the paper bag and with a friendly grin, offered it to the urchin still playing with his rubber ball.

"Would you like one?" she asked cheerfully, acting as though she were about to walk past and the question was a spur of the moment thought.

The boy's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. The only apples he had ever eaten in his life were the ones he had stolen from trees or off stalls and each time, he risked a hiding.

"Thanks miss!" he said with edifying gratitude and took it carefully from her gloved hand in one grubby paw.

His grin nearly split his good-natured freckled face in two. He took a huge bite.

"You're welcome, Wiggins," Sarah replied, with a twinkle in her eye.

He stared at her in astonishment. "How did you know my…?" then realised his mistake and gaped at her with wide eyes.

"I didn't, I guessed," Sarah said with a kind laugh.

Wiggins looked a bit panicked.

"Don't tell Mr Holmes, please? You're not supposed to know," Wiggins said, his voice hoarse and his apple momentarily forgotten.

"I can promise you that Mr Holmes will never, ever know of our meeting," Sarah said solemnly.

Wiggins looked relieved.

"But there is a condition. I want to know who else you report to apart from Mr Holmes," Sarah said, "There is a guinea in it for you."

Wiggins looked agonised.

"I don't want to cross Mr Holmes. He's been good to us boys," Wiggins said miserably.

"Mr Holmes won't ever know of our conversation, at least not from me," Sarah said gently, "I know what Mr Holmes' employment means to the irregulars."

Wiggins eyed her cautiously.

"You know everything, you do. How did you know he calls us that?" he asked with awe.

Sarah winked.

"I'll keep my secrets for now. You were going to tell me who else you report to," she reminded him.

Wiggins sighed deeply.

"Mr Holmes was right. He said it was too easy to get tricked by a pretty face," he said gloomily, much to Sarah's amusement. "Oh well, I've learned my lesson. I report in to some gentlemen who belong to the Society sometimes as well," he revealed reluctantly.

"What is the Society?" Sarah asked with a puzzled frown.

"I dunno, miss. It's very secret, see? Mr Holmes is a member and so are the other gents I report to," Wiggins replied.

Sarah could see he was telling the truth even if he didn't understand what he was trying to explain.

"And what do you report on?" Sarah asked.

Wiggins was looking more cheerful again and tucking into his apple once more.

"We all have to keep an eye on you and make sure no-one is bothering you. When Mr Holmes is away from London on a case, we report to other Society members. Also, 'cause you travel so much, Mr Holmes uses the other Society members on the Continent to keep an eye on you when you're away from London. Otherwise, he employs us irregulars to dig up stuff for his cases," Wiggins said, now in quite a chatty mood.

Sarah realised that Wiggins was an unusually bright lad. _Trust Holmes to discover it and make use of him_ , Sarah thought wryly. _At least Wiggins got an income out of it, so Holmes was doing a good thing_ , she mused.

"I wonder what the Society members get out of this deal?" Sarah speculated out loud.

"Oh, Mr Holmes does favours for them too. If they have a puzzle to solve, they come to Mr Holmes like everyone else. He's quite a bigwig in the Society," Wiggins supplied helpfully, shoving the last bit of apple happily in his mouth.

"How big is the Society?" Sarah asked curiously.

Wiggins shrugged, wiping his hand clean of apple juice on his trouser leg.

"All over the continent, I think. I know he gets reports about you from every city you tour in," Wiggins answered truthfully.

"He must trust you a good deal," Sarah said thoughtfully, looking at the clever, open, freckled face before her with its bright eyes and keen expression.

"He wouldn't if he knew I'd told you all this," Wiggins said frankly, his face falling again.

"I won't say a word, I promise. I know what Mr Holmes' friendship means to you," Sarah said soothingly. "Now you take these to eat later," Sarah said, holding out the bag of apples to the boy. His face lit up and he clutched the bag in his dirty hand.

"Thanks miss!" he said eagerly.

"And this is the guinea I promised," Sarah said, taking it out of her purse and pressing it into his other hand.

His freckled face shone.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said with a grin.

"I'll keep my promise," Sarah said finally and put her finger to her lips and smiled, then hurried back across the road before any of Holmes' other spies spotted her.

Wiggins watched her go with a feeling of unreality. He had observed her for a long time, but never expected to speak to her. He sighed. Mr Holmes had been right – it was very easy to be tricked by a pretty face. He was only a boy of twelve, but he would have told Miss Mounteney anything she wanted to know. It was like being under a hypnotic spell, having a pretty woman speaking to you. He hoped Mr Holmes never found out because he respected Mr Holmes deeply, but there was something irresistible about Miss Mounteney.

Wiggins was a clever boy, he had long suspected that he was keeping Miss Mounteney under surveillance because Mr Holmes had, against his own counsel, been caught by a pretty face. Mr Holmes had never explained the motives behind his instructions to the irregulars nor would they expect him to, but Wiggins was certain of Mr Holmes' motivations now he'd spoken to Miss Mounteney himself.

Sarah did not pretend to herself that she understood Holmes' motivations. Wiggins' revelations made her feel very strange. She could not fathom the meaning of any of it. Why create an elaborate web like this around her? It obviously acted as shield against the actions of certain undesirable men as the king had described, but why would Holmes do this? He had constructed these strange arrangements before the shooting and their false engagement as well, so it could not be traced to any feelings of guilt nor any desire to protect her reputation and his by proxy.

They were the actions, Sarah acknowledged, of someone who cared deeply about her but the idea was so dissonant with the detached, indifferent and sometimes infuriatingly rude Holmes that she knew that it made her feel rather light-headed.

If his motives were disinterested, if he was doing it merely for her protection, it would be the most practical example of real love she could imagine. It was selfless and generous, as it asked for nothing in return. _What a complete change that would be from all the men who were willing to give toys and trinkets and money, but want everything I possess in return_ , Sarah thought wryly. It also showed a deep understanding of who she was and the life she led as well. Few people had an insight into the dangers a ballerina with no family faced or how frightening and insulting it was to be treated as a desirable object with no soul or mind worth considering. If she could believe Holmes had engineered all this with no motive of his own, it would reveal depths to his character she would not have guessed from what she knew of him to date.

Unfortunately, she could not quite make herself believe he did not have another object in mind. The Holmes she knew was too cool-headed and calculating, too far-seeing and always with a hidden agenda. There was always some game he was playing toward an end only he understood. For him, the game was permanently afoot. She did not like the feeling that she was somehow involved in one of Holmes' intrigues.

Sarah shook off the strange mood that had descended on her since her talk with Wiggins. She did not want to become mentally wrapped up in Holmes' strange world. If he was playing some strange game, let him play on. She had a career to look after. That took up all her energies for now.

Things soon fell into a routine for Sarah as rehearsals got underway for the next season which was to be another mammoth tour. She was sent a message by Holmes about the University Entrance Test she had told him she would take. It seemed like a long time ago to Sarah now. He had arranged it for a fortnight after Sarah got back on one of her free evenings.

Sarah showed up at Cambridge University and met Professor Eagerton as arranged. There was a general knowledge component as well as standard intelligence type tests involving word and number and logic problems. It was pretty thorough and Sarah was there for hours. To Sarah's surprise, she quite enjoyed myself. It had been so long since she'd done any mental work that it was actually fun. It was like stretching a strong muscle that had been inactive too long. The foreign language questions she had to leave entirely but had expected that. Sarah was sure her knowledge of geography would be very odd to them.

When Sarah was finished, she had a feeling she'd be hearing from Holmes very soon.

Very early the next morning, Professor Eagerton called on Holmes at Baker Street.

"I've never seen anything like this Holmes - never!" Eagerton said, thrusting Sarah's papers at Holmes.

"What are your conclusions?" Holmes asked.

"On the intelligence testing, she scores well above average. She is no genius like you Holmes but she scores in the top five percentile of the population," Eagerton remarked.

Holmes gaze turned inward as he digested this information.

"And?" Holmes prompted.

"But her general knowledge is all over the place! She has no grasp of other languages at all," Eagerton said with astonishment, "Why the gap in her education? Her knowledge of geography is strange too. She can pick out major cities on a map but seems to have some lack of understanding as to where a country's borders are. She calls certain countries by different names as well."

That was news to Holmes. He looked at Eagerton with surprise and frowned. He could not immediately discern what it meant, unless borders had and country names had changed over time. However, that only held true if her story of time travel was true as well and he could not make himself believe it.

"On the other hand, her knowledge of the sciences is very advanced, particularly for a woman," Eagerton said, looking bewildered.

"All of them?" Holmes probed.

"Maths is her weakness but only because her ability is average compared to all her other abilities which are so far above average," Eagerton said, shaking his head in puzzlement.

"Historical knowledge?" Holmes asked.

"Excellent," Eagerton said.

"Art, music, literature, religion?" Holmes queried.

"No idea of music theory which is odd for a dancer. She is very well read and her religious education has been first class," Eagerton said, still confused.

"Strange," Holmes murmered.

"I'll leave you with her papers. Perhaps once you've had a chance to apply your mind to them, we can discuss them further. I can't imagine what kind of an education this young lady has received but in some respects, it's been very advanced and in others, quite negligent," Eagerton said, getting up to leave.

"One question, Eagerton. If a young man had produced these results for an entrance exam to Cambridge, would he be accepted?" Holmes asked.

"Oh, without doubt. It would be easy to rectify the gaps in his education with that kind of intelligence and mental discipline," Eagerton said, "Someone like that would most likely be a credit to Cambridge one day. Well, good day, Mr Holmes."

Holmes saw Eagerton out and then sat cross legged in his chair before the fire. Yet here was another mystery to fit into the already confounding enigma of Sarah. The problem was, the more data he collected, the more mystifying she became. One mystery was cleared up and that was the question of her intelligence.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: During the period of Sarah's second tour, Holmes worked on the Adventure of the Beryl Coronet and The Resident Patient._

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

 _Its stone_ _wall_ _was broken down._

 _Proverbs 24:31_

As Sarah had predicted, Holmes showed up at the theatre the next day with Watson in tow.

"All I can deduce, Miss Mounteney," Holmes said in her dressing room in one of her short breaks, "Is that your education has been very different to any that can be obtained in Britain or anywhere on the Continent, for that matter."

"And very different from any education a woman could normally obtain in these times," Sarah pointed out.

Holmes frowned. That point had obviously not escaped him either.

"So where and how did you obtain it?" he asked bluntly.

"You know where, Mr Holmes. In two thousand and ten, in Australia and in private schools," Sarah said truthfully.

Holmes tried not to bristle. It would not be any use to put Sarah off-side when he was trying to extract information.

"Ah! Your education was privately funded. That explains a good deal," Holmes said.

It didn't actually, Sarah thought, but she could see how he would reach that conclusion.

"Your parents were quite wealthy in order to pay for this private tuition?" Holmes asked.

"They weren't poor but I wouldn't say they were rich either," Sarah replied honestly.

"Wealth is relative," Watson commented to Holmes.

"Quite," he agreed, "It would explain the odd deficiencies in some areas and the advanced studies in others if the education was private. Different tutors have different strengths which they pass on to their students."

Sarah could see Holmes had gotten quite the wrong end of the stick but she wasn't going to correct him. It would only confuse him horribly. How did Sarah explain an extensive public and private school system?

"Mmmm," Sarah said noncommittally.

Just at that moment, a red faced young man raced into Sarah's dressing room door and looked wildly around.

"Mr Holmes!" he said in what Sarah now recognised as a French accent, _"Ou est la plume de ma tante?"_

Mr Holmes and Sarah replied in unison, _"Chez Madame Louise."_

It was the sign and countersign of one of the most elite and exclusive secret societies of French and Belgian intellectuals, noted for their scientific attainments and left-wing political views. Sarah only knew about it because she had read of it in the twenty-first centuary. Now all the pieces fell into place for Sarah. The mysterious Society that Wiggins had spoken of was indeed a very powerful and well-known one, famous enough to still be written about in the twenty-first centuary. Sarah was not surprised that Holmes was a "bigwig" in this particular Society. You had to be an exceptionally bright and talented intellectual to be accepted.

The young guest was staring at her in shocked, staring amazement. Mr Holmes' dark head whipped around and he looked intently at Sarah with suddenly narrowed eyes but he was no less astounded than the visitor. Both were so flabbergasted as to remain completely speechless for at least two full minutes. If Sarah had suddenly grown another head, they could not be more surprised.

"How do you know?" the young French man said finally, his dark eyes becoming suspicious.

"I just do," Sarah shrugged. She wasn't going to tell this young man her secret. It had been a mistake to even tell Holmes and Watson.

"Yes, Miss Mounteney," came Holmes' voice at its most smooth and dangerous, "How did you know?"

"I read a lot," Sarah said meaningfully at Holmes, "and I travel a lot and hear things," she added to Pierre.

Sarah could tell Holmes understood what she meant – that she had read about the Society in the future. He would not accept it, however.

"You would not hear this," Holmes said flatly, choosing to run with the other explanation.

"I just did," Sarah said, nodding to them both, "You used the sign and countersign right in front of me. If you have done so, why not others before you? Your friend assumed I was too stupid to recognise it for what it was but as we were just discussing, I am not stupid Mr Holmes."

Mr Holmes mouth tightened. "She is right Pierre, it was not a good idea to use the sign and countersign in front of the uninitiated," he said to the visitor.

Sarah mentally rolled her eyes _. 'The uninitiated'? Oh please! How pretentious could you get?_

"And you have been invited to some very interesting places while on tour, have you not Miss Mounteney?" Holmes said, staring at Sarah in an odd, speculative way, "I underestimated how much you see and hear as an invited guest artist to the homes of the powerful."

Sarah shrugged and muttered, "Hmmmmm," again. She wasn't interested in powerful people particularly, glittering though they may be.

"Watson, I fear I need to go with Pierre here. Perhaps you care to accompany me? I think this will be a very interesting case. Thank you for your time today, Miss Mounteney. It was been very interesting and informative," Holmes said with sudden energy and ending with a polite bow.

Sarah said good-bye and watched them disappear. She wondered which case it was – one of the published ones or some other… In any case, she needed to go back to rehearsal.

The tour that spanned 1886 and half of 1887 was just as extensive as the first tour. The tour was delayed as Sarah's gunshot wound needed time to heal properly. She was unable to rehearse long hours each day when she first returned from Cornwall. Vladimir was not disturbed. He knew the second tour would make even more money than the first.

The second tour was also more enjoyable for Sarah, as she was better prepared for the travel and now had acquaintances to visit in nearly all the major cities. She knew her way around and was starting to learn some French and German. The long train journeys gave her plenty of time to study.

Sarah saw Holmes and sometimes Watson quite regularly on her tour. They seemed to travel with Holmes' cases quite a bit.

Holmes seemed less suspicious to Sarah when they met up these days, more like a social acquaintance than someone who viewed her as a puzzle and potentially a charlatan. His antennae were always up to some extent, but she decided that this was Holmes' natural state. Perhaps she was simply getting used to him, she pondered.

In fact, Holmes was trying very hard to put aside his suspicions of Sarah for several reasons. Firstly, because he was happier when they were getting along, he grew morose when they were at odds with each other. Secondly, because they could not convince the world they were engaged if they never saw each other and a frosty atmosphere was simply unpleasant. Lastly, because his feeling of responsibility for her safety simply grew with time, particularly after their false engagement. He simply worried less if he kept an eye on her.

The first time Sarah saw him on the tour was the very first leg of the journey to Paris. She had just finished some stretches and was lying flat on one seat when she heard a knock. Sarah assumed it was her dance partner come to have a chat, but it was Holmes who came through the door.

He seated himself down perfectly at his ease and immediately pulled out his smelly pipe and lit it.

"I wanted to return this to you," he said and held out the ring which had given Sarah nightmares to be in the care of previously.

Sarah eyed it warily but didn't take it. "Really Mr Holmes, I don't want the care of it. It would be too hard to be careful of it when I'm on and off the stage all the time and traveling about so much," she said.

"Leave it on all the time then," he said, not retracting it, "Why can't you wear it on stage?"

Sarah still didn't take it but continued to eye it moodily rather than look at Holmes.

"I suppose there isn't any reason why not. It was forbidden to do so where I come from because jewelry catches the stage lights and may distract another performer, causing an accident. Then again, I don't think any of the other dancers move enough to hurt themselves," Sarah muttered rudely.

Holmes made that odd barking noise again which always startled her. "I don't believe there is the slightest danger," he drawled, "Go on, take it. People will notice if you're not wearing it. Photos were published of it, remember? I should have given it back to you before now, but I've been distracted by some important cases."

Sarah took it more because he insisted than because she saw the need for it. "What was wrong with my plan on how to explain the change? It was very plausible," Sarah said, slipping the gold ring onto her other hand and putting the enormous brilliant rock onto the correct finger.

"It wasn't plausible at all," he contradicted her sharply. Now Sarah knew what poor Watson had to put up with. "There is no woman on earth who would not wear a ring like that if she was given it. The only reason for you not to be wearing it would be the dissolution of our engagement and we decided quite some time ago that continuing the deception would be better all round for now," he argued.

 _Whatever,_ Sarah thought crankily. Then she sighed heavily, "If you say so."

Sarah decided to change the subject.

"Another case, Mr Holmes?" she asked conversationally.

"Not this time. This trip is for pleasure. I want to hear Sarasate, the great violinist. He is playing a series of concerts in Paris this week," Holmes said, his sharp grey eyes gleaming with genuine pleasure.

For the next half hour, Holmes told Sarah in depth about Sarasate's musical pedigree and the pieces he would be playing at the concerts. It was obvious that Holmes took his music very seriously and was profoundly knowledgeable.

Suddenly he hopped up. "I must be off, one of my informants is meeting me at the next station. All the best with your tour Miss Mounteney," he said and was gone as swiftly as he arrived.

For once, Sarah actually wasn't aggravated with him. Once again, he had shown that he could be good company.

Sarah had mentioned to her friends in Paris that she was a fan of Erik Satie's music. As Satie had not published anything yet, they were surprised but some of them knew the young music student and offered to introduce Sarah. He was still living in his father's home and studying at the Conservatoire, although he hadn't made much of an impression on his teachers from what Sarah's friends had to say.

She was determined to hear Satie play his Gymnopedie No. 1. His compositions were the precursor to modern ambient music and Sarah knew the Victorians, with their obsession with romantic German music, wouldn't understand it.

Sarah's friends told Satie of her interest, so she was invited to his father's home for a private concert. She thought he was probably as artistically curious about her as Sarah was about him.

As it turned out, Sarah met up with Holmes and Watson in the Paris theatre district that day. They were attending one of the Sarasate concerts. She told them about her private concert and they cheerfully invited themselves along although they had no idea who Satie was.

Satie was quite pleased to have an audience. He was an eccentric, avant-garde person with an odd, plaited beard. Once Sarah produced some very good wine and other small gifts, he was particularly glad to see them.

He was keen to play, so Sarah stretched herself on the floor near the piano. This did not faze Satie one bit.

"Why are you on the floor?" Holmes asked in his most incisive tones, sounding a tad impatient.

"The acoustics are better here with the wooden flooring," Sarah explained truthfully.

"Are they?" Holmes said, suddenly curious.

"Oh yes," Satie said vaguely, riffling through his music.

Next thing Sarah knew, Holmes was stretched out on the other side of the piano.

"Try it, Watson!" Holmes commanded.

"I can hear fine from here, thanks," Watson said dryly.

When the music began, Sarah ignored them both. It was the first Gymnopedie, although obviously not in its final form. The flood of memories it brought back to Sarah was so sudden that it took her by surprise. For a few seconds, she could have been listening to her ipod on the way to work.

There was nothing in Victorian England to remind Sarah of home. No smells, sounds, textures, tastes – nothing. Satie's music was like a time machine.

Satie played for himself, so he played for a long time including half written pieces that Sarah recognised. The Gnossienes were already in progress.

Finally they said good-night after profuse thanks. Sarah would send Satie an expensive gift the next day, as it would be rude to offer a fellow artist payment. Also, tickets to opening night for him and several friends.

Holmes was quiet for a long time on the walk back to the hotel.

"A lot of that music is on your ipod," Holmes said quietly to Sarah, finally. Holmes had listened to all the classical pieces on her ipod. He had figured out how to re-charge it using fairly primitive Victorian sources of electricity. He had even tried to listen to the modern top 40 music but he was so appalled he didn't try a second time.

"Yes, I love Satie," Sarah said with a happy sigh.

"It hasn't been published yet, but it's on your ipod," Holmes repeated, an odd expression on his face. He stopped walking and stared fixedly down at Sarah.

"Yes, I know," she agreed.

"It's only being written by Satie now, so the new pieces on your ipod can't be fakes, specially recorded to fool people into thinking it's the music of the future," Holmes said intensely.

"Is that what you've been thinking?" Sarah asked, not sure whether to feel amused or angry.

"It makes more sense than time travel," Holmes said flatly.

"I didn't say time travel made sense. I just said it was true," Sarah replied tartly.

He said nothing for few moments, just looking down at her with a frown.

His intense stare was making Sarah nervous although she would rather die than show it. Holmes rarely did more than glance at Sarah when they were in the same room, unless he was cross-examining her about something in which case he often fell into a brown study and was lost in thought for a long time, his vision turned inwards. It was rare for him to really look at her and certainly not with any degree of intensity. Sarah realised she was holding her breath, pinned down by Holmes' sharp grey eyes. She returned his gaze with an ironic expression, hoping he wouldn't notice that he was unsettling her, wondering what he would do next.

"It's true, isn't it? However it happened, you have visited some distant future point in time. Nothing else makes sense. Discard anything that doesn't fit and whatever is left must be the truth," Holmes said finally, almost more to himself than to Sarah.

Sarah felt a bit stunned. Did he finally believe her?

Watson was watching them both with a look of astonishment.

"But surely, Holmes…" he began.

"Think about it, Watson," Holmes said snapping back into his clear, incisive voice, "This young woman arrives in London with strange objects we have never seen before and our modern industry could never replicate. She owns jewelry more perfectly cut than any master gemologist could produce. She can tell us about conversations that you and I have had where no-one else was in the room – why? Because you wrote them down and published them and she's read them sometime in the future. She knows the password to the most secret society on the Continent, something no woman on earth is privy to. She has recordings of music that are only now being composed on devices that can only use very new sources of power like electricity. She has a far greater education than any woman of our own time. She has an oddly independent attitude to life, something beyond what the suffragettes ever envisaged. She does not only want a career, she _expects_ to have one and assumes she will have to support herself entirely rather than rely on a husband. Do you know any other woman with such a view of life? She arrives with a haircut and dress that no woman of our time would ever imagine. She displays a ballet technique so far advanced that no modern dancer can hope to catch up in her lifetime. When she first arrives, she has no idea of how our currency works, how to find her way around London without a map, how much anything should cost or where to find anything she needs. No friends or relations come to her aid because she has none. It is as though she has fallen from the sky. Most convincingly, the only people she has told in all these years are you and me, Watson. A person who was lying would want to create a sensation and try to profit from it. A person telling the truth would want to keep it hidden so they could blend in," Holmes concluded and then pressed his thin lips together. He was convinced against his will and unhappy about it, but convinced nonetheless.

Watson slowly nodded his head.

Sarah didn't know what to say. She had doubted they would ever believe her. If the ipod hadn't convinced them, she didn't have much other proof. However, Holmes faculty for observation and deduction had filled the gaps after all.

Holmes was silent for the rest of the walk back to the hotel.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 _Strength dwells in his neck, and sorrow_ _dance_ _s before him._

Job 41:22

Holmes reflected on his conclusions back in his hotel room. Now that he had seen for himself that Sarah had to be telling the truth, some obstacle in the way he viewed her had melted away. He had always been suspicious and distrustful, expecting that Sarah would prove to be a charlatan and fearful of being taken in. That apprehension had evaporated once he heard Satie play his unfinished pieces. He had known that he had already heard those pieces before, in their completed form, on Sarah's ipod. There was no way that Sarah could have had access to the final music to put on the ipod when it still was being composed here and now. The only way was if she had brought it back from the future. It was the only explanation for everything, as he'd said to Watson.

Holmes suddenly felt calmer, as though some inner tension that had been plaguing him had been put to rest suddenly, as though some huge and desperate internal fight was finally over. He realised how exhausting it was being distrustful of Sarah, it went against his instincts and caused massive interior dissonance. Holmes had a fear of being fooled by a pretty face. However, he had found being guarded and skeptical with Sarah particularly difficult. Now he felt he could finally let that go.

The tour continued smoothly and it was several weeks before Sarah encountered either Holmes or Watson again. The next time was in Vienna and Holmes appeared to be working alone again.

Despite the tattle in the gossip columns from her last tour, Sarah couldn't resist going back to the outdoor ballroom and watching the dancers twirling through the night air. The spectacle was irresistible: A dance room without walls and with stars for a ceiling; the cool night air beckoning; the elegant wrought iron coffee tables dotted around the dance floor; the gorgeous gowns of the women and elegant manners of the men all thrown into mysterious shadows by the braziers and flickering lamps.

The aristocratic acquaintances from her last visit had indeed written and asked Sarah to stay with them when they heard of the tour, but it wasn't practical in terms of travel to the theatre district each day. As soon as they saw Sarah at the outdoor ballroom, they immediately invited her to join their party for the evening.

When Sarah had decided to take a break from the dancing (and it meant turning down some very nice partners), she realised that Holmes had slipped into the chair beside her at the coffee table.

"Waltzing again, Miss Mounteney?" he said, his thick dark brows raised. "The papers will have a field day. I also have to say that I would not be impressed to find any real fiancé of mine being whisked about so familiarly by strange young men. It does not reflect well on either of us," he said coolly.

Sarah examined Holmes sharp profile. He seemed in a strange mood, she observed. The severe angles and flat planes of his face looked carved in stone in the half shadows thrown by the braziers. She suddenly remembered the first time she had met Holmes and how attractive she had found his very masculine, aristocratic face and elegant figure. His physical attributes had been rather over-shadowed by his extraordinary personality since then but in the half-light surrounding the dance floor and with his odd, subdued mood, she clearly remembered her first impressions. Holmes had a very definite physicality. His height was imposing and if that wasn't enough, his glittering intelligent gaze would pin you to your chair. He either buzzed with barely restrained energy or lounged with languid elegance. Both states were appealing in their own way.

"Sorry, I didn't realise I was compromising my reputation and yours by association," Sarah apologised finally, but not very convincingly. Sarah began to realise that this phony engagement really _was_ compromising his reputation in ways that neither of them had anticipated. It had started with those dreadful newspaper articles about their so-called engagement and now this. She hoped the story didn't make its way back into English papers but she had a horrible feeling that it might. "I really don't reflect very well on you I'm afraid, Mr Holmes," Sarah said more sincerely with a sigh. "This fake engagement has been nothing but trouble for you. I think we should just end it before any more horrible articles are printed."

"Too late for that now," Holmes said, suddenly coming to life with that strange energy he often showed, "And I shouldn't worry about the newspapers. They've been printing libelous nonsense about my work for years and they're not about to stop now. There are still plenty of those interested in my methods, and more and more significant personages seeking my services by the year regardless of that printed drivel. I'm beginning to think it's actually good for my reputation rather than otherwise – it draws people's attention to it."

"If you say so," Sarah said dubiously, reflecting on the capricious nature of publicity.

"Miss Mounteney," a young man said coming up to the table with a dazzling smile, "Won't you give me the pleasure of the next dance?"

"No, I had better not, thank you anyway Gottfried," Sarah said rather reluctantly, glancing at Holmes' stiff figure from the corner of one eye. Waltzing was fun after all.

"Miss Mounteney's dances are reserved for her fiancé," Holmes said, his voice of arctic coldness.

Gottfried looked startled for a moment and then left with a bow.

Sarah considered Holmes with a sudden gleam of amusement in her eyes.

"I can't imagine you dancing, Mr Holmes. I think you disapprove of it because you can't," she said, more to tease him than anything else.

To her everlasting surprise, Holmes got up and, with a rather commanding air, held his hand out to Sarah with a bow. Although gentlemanly in attitude, he obviously expected Sarah, as his pretend fiancé, to accept without question. Holmes could be very masterful when he chose, Sarah reflected. She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand. To her surprise, his hand just about swallowed hers. Because his fingers were so slender, it belied how large they were.

To Sarah's amazement, Holmes could waltz! Not only could he waltz, but he danced well. With his long legs, he just about danced Sarah off her feet. They spun around the floor so fast that Sarah started laughing. People stopped dancing and stared then started laughing too. By the time Holmes led Sarah off the floor, she was both dizzy and breathless from dancing and laughter. Holmes merely had a look of rather smug satisfaction on his face, like he had proved some point.

"Okay, you win Mr Holmes. You're a very good dancer," Sarah said after she caught her breath.

It had been years since Holmes had danced. Of course, being brought up a gentleman, he was expected to know how. It was probably the first time he had actually enjoyed the experience. In fact, he had enjoyed holding Sarah close so much that he wanted to ensure that no-one else had that particular pleasure. As her fiancé, false or otherwise, he did have some rights however temporary they may be.

Sarah's arm was still linked with his after he led her off the floor and he leaned down slightly to say in a low voice in her ear, "Remember that while you are my pretend fiancé, you only dance with me in these settings."

It struck Sarah that he was quite serious and she examined his profile again for a clue as to what he was thinking, but his face was turned away from her. It was unlike Holmes to even attempt to give her orders, but Sarah felt this was somehow personal for him.

Maybe he had been more stung by the reporting in the newspapers than he had let on, Sarah thought. It was the only explanation she could think of. The very public show of the two of them dancing together would certainly be reported on in the society pages. Knowing how shrewd Holmes was, this had probably been his object all along – an attempt to undo the damage from the first tour. Sarah supposed Holmes had a right to protect his own reputation, particularly as the engagement had originally been for her benefit. She should really try to be more thoughtful and careful. Although Holmes had irritated Sarah in the past, he had done a great deal to protect her as well, whatever his motivations were.

Just as Holmes led Sarah back to a coffee table, Pierre appeared out of the shadows and said something in a low voice to Holmes.

"I must leave you in the care of our hosts, Miss Mounteney. I'm sure we will cross paths again before the end of your tour," he said with a bow and melted into the night.

Sarah did see both Holmes and Watson again in Rome and Dublin where they came to opening night performances and met her backstage. Our backstage manager knew them so well that he always ensured there was a supply of Holmes' favourite tobacco and Watson's favourite cigars. They were both cheerful nights as they had recently concluded a successful case on both occasions and wanted to celebrate with plenty of champagne.

The second tour, although more comfortable and less lonely, was physically difficult for Sarah. Travelling for a longer time where it was impossible to maintain a consistent training routine put stress on her muscles and joints. She decided that she would put her foot down and demand a year in London once they got back. Sarah knew she had the power to make these demands now. The Artistic Director would not care, as long she did not leave the company for another, he would still make his money.

Once back in London for the final few months of the tour, Sarah was to meet Pierre again rather sooner than she would have expected. He showed up at her house on Oxford Street at one of the rare times when Sarah was home, late on a Monday afternoon.

On that day, it was already getting dark, so she wasn't expecting anyone. When the housekeeper brought his card through to her, Sarah knew who he was immediately. She had a feeling this young man was a rather slippery type who would approach her in just these circumstances.

"Mademoiselle Mounteney," he said with a dapper bow.

He was a very slender young man with oiled dark hair and a handsome moustache. Somehow, he seemed typically French to Sarah.

"Good evening, Pierre. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Sarah asked. She ordered coffee because she knew being French, he would prefer coffee to tea.

They sat down in front of the fire and Pierre regarded her from his very alert, black eyes.

"Mr Holmes has a very high opinion of you, Mademoiselle," Pierre said.

He could not have surprised Sarah more. She didn't imagine Mr Holmes had a very high opinion of anyone, particularly anyone of her sex. Sarah wondered if what Pierre said was strictly true or if he had some agenda of his own.

"He thinks you have some very unique talents and abilities," Pierre continued.

"Well, I do," Sarah said somewhat facetiously, "I dance for a living."

"No, not your dancing Mademoiselle, although that is very beautiful of course," he said gallantly with a small bow of his dark head.

Sarah wondered how much he knew about dancing in order to judge it and decided it probably wasn't much.

"He believes you have a very sharp wit and good intelligence. Also, the ability to defend yourself which is unusual in a woman. Then, there is the fact that your fame gives you entrée into very powerful circles all over Europe," Pierre continued.

Sarah was beginning to understand.

"Your secret society wants my help with something, doesn't it?" she said bluntly, pouring the coffee which had arrived.

"Exactly Mademoiselle," he confirmed sipping the coffee appreciatively.

Perhaps this was why she had been under surveillance for so long, Sarah conjectured. Perhaps Holmes had been trying to decide if she would be a fit candidate to undertake a particular task for the Society. Perhaps Holmes' original suspicion of her had simply turned into speculative interest when he had seen the doors that her fame opened.

"Why isn't Holmes speaking to me about this?" Sarah asked curiously. She would have expected Holmes to be the one to visit if this Society needed anything.

Pierre shrugged.

"He is away on a case at the moment. You know what he is like, always traveling. He is not in London at the moment," Pierre said casually.

"What do you want?" Sarah asked.

"There is a man, a French psychiatrist, who is a member of our society. He is quite mad himself, I think. Other members of the society think so too. He is running strange experiments and we want to get to the bottom of it and possibly, stop him if need be. He is a very, very clever man; far more clever than any of our other members and perhaps more clever than Holmes himself," Pierre explained.

"How am I supposed to help?" Sarah inquired, having really no idea.

"Well, this man has a very large weakness. He loves women and we know he has followed your career avidly. If you are everything that Holmes believes, we think you can extract his secrets from him and stay safe yourself," Pierre said, his eyes narrowing calculatingly.

Sarah felt a chill creep over her skin. The hair on her arms and the nape of her neck literally stood on end. She didn't like the sound of that at all.

"To be honest Pierre, it sounds dangerous to me and what benefit is there to anyone else in finding out what this man is up to?" Sarah said coolly.

"There have been a lot of strange, unexplained deaths of animals in his laboratories. They are found convulsed but with no trace of injury or poison in their system. What is he doing to kill them? We are afraid he has perfected some untraceable form of murder and he will turn his hand to humans next. We need to find out what he is up to, Mademoiselle," Pierre said with a Gallic shrug, "He is not mentally stable."

Sarah leaned back in her chair and pretended to drink her coffee as she thought about it.

"I'm willing to try as long as I don't have to be alone with him. My condition is that anytime I am with him it is in public places and members of the society are nearby," Sarah said finally.

"That is very wise, Mademoiselle. We would expect that to be the case," Pierre said with a bow of his head.


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: I was asked a good question by a kind reviewer – why is Holmes not more curious about the future? My interpretation of Holmes is that he is conservative (despite his eccentricities) and a man very much of his times. He would thus hold the Victorian's typical religious disapproval and suspicion of anything supernatural that is unconnected to Christianity. Of course, there was also a morbid fascination with the supernatural in Victorian times (as you will see in the coming chapters), but it was on the fringes of society and not really approved of by respectable society, certainly not in the intellectual and scientific circles that Holmes preferred. For this reason, I think he would have avoided speaking to Sarah about the future, out of a desire not to engage with intangibles that can't be understood. Holmes' world is very much that of the concrete._

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

… _we have made lies our refuge, and under_ _falsehood_ _we have hidden ourselves._

Isaiah 28:15

So began a very strange adventure in Sarah's life.

Sarah met Alain Laurent at a small party after a show one evening at Pierre's house. Alain generally did attend Pierre's house parties, so it wasn't unusual that he would be there. Of course, Pierre had mentioned that he had met Sarah through Holmes and she had accepted the invitation to be there that night.

Pierre deliberately seated Sarah at a small supper table where Alain was already seated and introduced her to everyone. Alain struck Sarah as the sort of man who could probably have just about any woman he wanted, really. He had thick strawberry blonde hair, lightly freckled skin and finely molded bone structure with high cheekbones and a strong chin. He was unusually handsome and he gave the impression of someone who was used to being in control of their destiny. He was charismatic. As a teenager, she acknowledged that she probably would have found him fascinating. As a woman, Sarah already knew where the faults in his character would be. He was spoilt and too used to things coming to him too easily. His lack of humility would make him grating in the end.

For Sarah's own purposes, it made her job easier. He believed he could dazzle Sarah very quickly, so she didn't have to work very hard at looking dazzled. He did most of the talking, so all Sarah had to do was pretend to look interested.

She had no intention of staying very long the first night. After an hour, she excused herself saying that she had to dance the next day (which was true). Alain immediately offered to take Sarah home in his carriage which she obviously declined (only a very fast woman would have accepted that offer!). He sulked and demanded to know when he could see her again and she promised she would come to Pierre's next house party which was in three days' time.

Sarah made sure Pierre saw her into the hansom carriage she'd rented for the night and she got home safely.

The same performance happened three nights later except Alain extracted a promise to have dinner with him at the Savoy the next evening.

Sarah would never forget that evening. It was obvious that when Sarah met Alain at the Savoy, he was very agitated. He couldn't sit still and was restless, looking around the room obviously waiting for something to happen.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Mounteney. I have waited so long to meet you and without much hope that I would have the chance. I could not believe it when Pierre said you were coming to the supper party the other evening. I felt that if we ever had the chance to meet, there would be something between us," Alain was saying anxiously.

Sarah reflected that it was typical of the ego of men like Alain to assume that she felt the same way he did. Not that Sarah thought it was likely that Alain's 'feelings' went very deep.

"I was very curious to meet you, Alain. I have heard interesting things about you," Sarah said cautiously.

 _Well, that much was true_ , she thought. She'd heard that Alain was barking mad and that was interesting in a disturbing sort of way.

"Now that we have had that chance, I feel that fate is intervening and taking away my happiness just as I am about to grasp it," he continued, looking nervously down at the tablecloth.

Sarah looked at him curiously but didn't say anything. She figured the less she said, the more he would talk.

"I have done some things which are… perhaps a little unconventional, Mademoiselle Mounteney. Great minds cannot be expected to contain themselves to the ordinary rules of run-of-the-mill men," he said with a burst of conviction.

 _All that means_ , Sarah thought peevishly, _is that you think you can do whatever you like and get away with it._

"Because of the… the narrow-mindedness of small men, I now find myself in some trouble and I will have to take drastic measures to extricate myself," he added somewhat mysteriously.

He was silent for some time, staring down at the table.

"Mademoiselle Mounteney, do you believe in the supernatural?" he asked finally, still looking at the table.

"If you believe in God, you believe in the supernatural. So yes, I do," Sarah said, finally breaking her silence and finally interested in what he was saying.

He looked up, pinning Sarah with a fine pair of amber brown eyes. It was as though he was trying to read her mind. His stare made her uncomfortable. His eyes glittered in a strange way but Sarah looked away unconcernedly. She wasn't going to be drawn into a silly staring match.

He sighed suddenly.

"Do you think it's possible for souls to change bodies?" he said softly.

Sarah looked at him penetratingly. It was the oddest question she'd ever been asked and somehow seemed typical of Victorian spirituality in all its morbid extremes.

"Do you?" she asked sharply.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Mounteney. I've done it," he said, his voice soft but somehow challenging.

"Who have you exchanged souls with?" she asked incisively, her eyes narrowed on his handsome face.

"Oh, only animals so far. They all died of convulsions. They're bodies couldn't support a human soul. I want to change souls with another human one day but I haven't so far," he said, his voice low, "The thing is, I will have to do so soon."

 _There were only two possibilities_ , Sarah thought. _Alain was a lunatic or what he said was true. Either way, he was a very dangerous man and she was having dinner with him_.

"How do you do it?" Sarah asked curiously, wanting to keep him talking for now.

"Oh, it's no information to impart to a lady. It's not pleasant. It involves a formula that must be drunk and things that must be said. To be honest, I think you need some kind of occult gift too," Alain said frowning and looking down again.

To Sarah, it sounded like you needed to be the very Devil himself.

"Why do you need to change with another human soon?" Sarah asked gently, wanting to know but not wanting to set him off.

"It's very simple, Mademoiselle Mounteney. I want more money. My family is quite a good one with a good academic heritage and I can earn a decent living as a professor but I'd rather be independently wealthy. I like a rather better standard of living than I can currently afford. So why not swap souls with a rich man?" Alain said with an arrogant shrug of one shoulder.

Sarah frankly stared at him. It would never have occurred to her to go to the trouble of learning to swap souls in order to steal wealth.

"You would be stealing another person's life," she said bluntly.

"They get another in exchange. It isn't murder," Alain argued, starting to frown and looking petulant.

"Would you explain to them what you're doing?" she asked curiously.

"Not until afterward," Alain admitted, "It wouldn't be practical beforehand, would it?"

"No, I suppose not," Sarah said faintly.

"The point is," Alain said anxiously, "I want to do this fairly soon for a number of personal reasons but now I've met you…"

He left that statement hanging in the air for a few seconds.

"What do I have to do with it?" Sarah asked. Her voice sounded odd even to her own ears.

"Would you still allow me to court you once I am in another man's body?" he asked fretfully, reaching across the table to take my hand. Sarah was glad she was wearing gloves.

"Mr Laurent," she said, carefully moving her hand away from his, "You must understand that I am engaged to be married. I am unable to give any such consent," she explained carefully.

Alain brushed this information away like an irritating fly.

"You can break the engagement, Miss Mounteney. Surely you can see that our connection is far more profound that any you could share with another man?" he said impatiently.

The narcissism of the man was staggering, Sarah reflected. If she had not been acting a part, she would have had no idea how to deal with him. Sarah was after information, however so that is what she concentrated on.

"Who are you planning on swapping with?" Sarah asked cautiously. Of course, she had no intention of seeing Alain again after tonight but she wanted to pass the information on to the society.

"Someone that I think you would be happy to be courted by - Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and King of Bohemia," Alain said, an odd note of triumph in his voice.

Sarah stared at Alain like she had gone mad herself.

"The King has already tried to court me," Sarah said, her mouth dry. The memories were not pleasant.

A strange look of fury passed over Alain's face and then, just as suddenly, was gone.

"It would not be the same. The King and I are very different men. It would still be me, just in the King's body and with the King's fortune," Alain said with a familiar touch of arrogance.

"Alain, this is all too much for me. You have to give me a chance to absorb it all. Although you're very attractive, we've only just met each other," Sarah said, which sounded perfectly reasonable to her.

Alain nodded.

"I know, I just wanted to have this conversation in case I had to come and court you looking… well, looking quite different," he said seriously.

Sarah sincerely hoped Alain would be in a strait jacket by morning.

In a corner of the room, Holmes sat in heavy disguise.

He had arrived after them, having only found out what was happening from a concerned Society member an hour ago when he got back to London.

His stomach turned to ice when he heard the news; he had seen Alain Laurent's work before. He had sent a telegram to Watson and pulled on a disguise before making record time to the venue where Sarah and Alain were meeting.

He had been unable to get a seat near Alain and Sarah, but had passed close by their table in time to hear Sarah explain that she was engaged and Alain's impertinent response.

If Holmes hadn't been focused on keeping a close eye on their movements, he may have been surprised at the sudden surge of heat that flooded the normally pale skin of his face.

 _Who was this Alain Laurent to dismiss the prior claim of an existing engagement and his very existence in such a casual fashion_ , Holmes thought, his keen grey eyes narrowing dangerously. _Yes, it was a false engagement, but Alain didn't know that._

A quick glance around the room quickly told him that there were a lot of society members present. They were taking precautions. Still, Alain was quite mad and totally unpredictable. When Holmes got his hands on whoever was responsible, they would be sorry.

Sarah made her excuses fairly early, having to dance the next night no doubt, and left in her own cab trailed by several Society members.

To Holmes relief, Alain did not attempt to follow her and made off into the night with a purposeful air with more Society members on his trail.

To Sarah's own amazement, she got home quite safely that night.

Two seconds after she got in her door, Pierre, Holmes (sans disguise) and Watson followed her in.

She could tell in one glance that Holmes was in a towering rage which manifested itself in a lot of quick pacing, a mask-like expression and a frighteningly icy glitter in his eyes. He was quite terrifying and Pierre frankly looked scared. Watson looked apprehensive and grim.

"What the hell were you thinking letting Miss Mounteney undertake a mission like that for the Society? Who authorised it? Whose idea was it?" Holmes rapped out, the minute they were in the room.

"Holmes, mind your language!" Watson said shocked and glancing apologetically at Sarah.

Sarah tried not to look amused.

"No-one but Miss Mounteney could have done it and you know it, Holmes. As for who thought of it, I can't even remember whose idea it was. It may have even been mine. If you expect me to regret it, I don't. Ms Mounteney handled it beautifully," Pierre replied with all the arrogance that only a Frenchman could muster in that circumstance.

Sarah resignedly rang for tea and coffee and settled herself in front of the fire.

"What did he say?" Pierre asked eagerly, sitting opposite her.

"You didn't know about it then, Mr Holmes?" Sarah said with surprise, ignoring Pierre for the time being, "I assumed you had."

"No, I did not know!" Holmes almost snarled, "And I never would have allowed it! It was far too dangerous. Alain Laurent is a lunatic – both brilliant and mad. He's far too clever to send a lone, unprotected woman in against. Particularly one that we know he is attracted to."

Holmes threw himself down on a chair in the corner of a room and lit a cigarette, his grey eyes still hard with fury.

Sarah considered Holmes thoughtfully. It was a surprise to her that he clearly had no knowledge about Pierre's plans to introduce her to Alain. She had assumed that it had been Holmes' idea. If Holmes had no intention of involving Sarah in the Society's doings, which he clearly did not, then the mystery of the web of irregulars and Society members trailing her for years was still unsolved. What was his motivation then? Sarah was back to square one.

At the same moment, Dr Watson was staring at Holmes with a mixture of worry, surprise and mild amazement. He seemed unnerved by Holmes' mood, as though he could not quite comprehend it.

Sarah shook herself from her reverie.

"I don't know whether he's mad or whether he's the Devil," Sarah said thoughtfully, handing around the tea and coffee before sitting down again.

Holmes cocked his dark head and regarded her small form in front of the fire. She had an odd expression on her face, one he'd never seen there before. He'd made a careful study of Sarah over the years; she had been one of his unsolved mysteries after all. He'd never seen her in a mood like this.

"He believes he can swap souls with other living things," Sarah said, dropping her bombshell and then sipping her tea with relief.

Holmes, Watson and Pierre were silent with disbelief.

"You had better start at the beginning," Holmes said, a note of resignation in his voice.

After Sarah had related her conversation Holmes felt even angrier. His thin lips were pursed together in a white line and the skin was stretched tight over his lean face.

 _Alain Laurent was unbelievably arrogant to presume so much on such a short acquaintance with any woman, let alone a famous one like Sarah_ , Holmes thought furiously.

It was a strange delusion for such an intelligent man to have, to believe he could change souls. He was obviously incredibly dangerous. For the society to put Sarah right in the clutches of this lunatic was unforgivable. She had obviously believed that he, Holmes, knew about it but they had cleverly garnered her help while he was out of London on business.

After Pierre left to find out what the society members who were following Alain had found out, Holmes spoke to Sarah.

"I apologise that the society presumed on you in this way, Miss Mounteney. It is unforgivable," he said stiffly.

Sarah examined Holmes carefully with some curiousity. She hadn't seen him in this mood before. He still looked furious. His face was white and the expression in his eyes was murderous. When he was very angry, his usually granite grey eyes looked shot through with silver, she noticed with interest.

"Calm down, Mr Holmes. It was an adventure," Sarah said, "Have another cup of tea. It's still hot."

"If the society approaches you again, you will check with me first before doing anything, won't you?" he asked. He knew better than to try and give Sarah direct orders after being acquainted with her for a couple of years now.

"Yes, if you like. Although, I'd be surprised if they do. I don't think your reaction tonight would encourage them to ask me again," she said, with mild amusement.

"Good," Holmes said flatly, drinking his tea.

"Well, let me know what happens," she said when Holmes and Watson got up to leave.

"I'll be in touch, Miss Mounteney," Holmes promised, "Society members and the irregulars will be keeping an eye out to ensure you don't get harassed by Alain," he added and they both disappeared into the night.


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N – 1887 to 1889 was a very busy time for Holmes and Watson. They completed nearly twenty of the cases recorded by Watson during this time. Watson tells us in Canon that he didn't record all the cases, so we can presume they actually took on more cases than this during this time. A Scandal in Bohemia, when Holmes met Irene Adler, actually happened in 1889 but I used artistic license to move it earlier for the timeline of this story._

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven**

… _his_ _anger_ _burned within him._

Esther 1:12

"Well, that was a display Holmes," Watson said when they got back to Baker Street and had settled in front of the fire.

Holmes was sprawled moodily in his favourite chair, his thick dark brows drawn heavily down and his thin lips still pressed together in anger.

"I'll murder Pierre myself if he tries a stunt like that again," Holmes said icily, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the firelight, "As it is, the Society will take measures."

"What measures?" Watson asked feeling rather worried.

"His membership will be suspended for a time and that will have an effect on his academic ambitions in the short term – perhaps longer," Holmes said grimly.

"Oh, that's not so bad," Watson muttered with some relief.

"Really, Watson? I think he would probably prefer a thrashing. Ambitious and talented young men don't like having their progress thwarted or dramatically slowed," Holmes said remorselessly.

Watson felt something was odd. Holmes' anger was of the constrained, controlled, cold type and the more dangerous for it. It was unlike him to show any real fire or heat. There was an unrestrained quality to this display of anger that was uncharacteristic.

"Are you feeling quite well, Holmes? It's not like you to get so worked up," Watson said cautiously.

"He had no right to put a defenseless woman in danger," Holmes said, his jaw tightly clenched.

"I wouldn't call Miss Mounteney defenseless. She's the most dangerous woman I've ever known," Watson joked, trying to lighten the mood. "But it was wrong of Pierre, undoubtedly," he added hurriedly, glancing at his friend's face.

"Miss Mounteney is not completely invulnerable and should not be deliberately put in the way of danger," Holmes said stiffly, his face rigid.

"Of course not, Holmes. I quite agree," Watson said placatingly, frowning slightly at his strangely changed companion.

In the early hours of the morning, Watson found himself too keyed up to sleep and watched the dying embers of the fire contemplating the strange evening and bizarre story of Alain Laurent. Holmes had long since retired to his room.

Suddenly, an idea came to Watson like a bolt out of the blue. Holmes, who had always deeply disliked and distrusted women, was acting with an odd air of masterful possessiveness with regard to Sarah. He had reacted more like a father or brother or… Watson could hardly believe he was thinking it… like a _real_ fiancé. After all, Sarah had agreed to help Pierre of her own free will. She had set down very sensible conditions. No harm had befallen her and yet, Holmes acted like a protector and a ferocious and passionate one at that.

Despite his dislike of women, Holmes had always been gentlemanly and courteous toward the fair sex. In fact, he could be downright charming if it suited his purpose. However, Watson had seen something entirely different tonight. There was an uninhibited quality to his anger and Holmes was never uninhibited. That energy, directed into a different emotion, could have the quality of passion. This raised a contradiction. The only thing Holmes was passionate about was being coldly dispassionate and rational at all times. The Holmes he had seen tonight was a million miles away from his usual languid or icily logical self.

Sarah fell into her bed exhausted after the men had left. It had been a long and strange day finished off by Holmes' odd mood. She wasn't sure whether she was frightened, annoyed or oddly keyed up by his anger. Maybe all three. Holmes was capable of getting angry but it was usually frustration over an impediment to one of his cases. She was unable to fathom why he was so angry with Pierre. She did not believe the danger was so very great. Alain was not going to harm what he wanted to possess and it was clear that Alain wanted to possess her. Not for her own sake but for what she represented – glamour, fame and something of a trophy.

Besides, why worry so much about her safety? She wasn't any relation of his. She wasn't really his responsibility at all. Anyone would think…

But Sarah never finished the thought, as she fell into an exhausted sleep full of dreams of sitting across from Alain Laurent at supper while he told her that she belonged to him, but when she looked closer she realized it was actually Holmes sitting across from her. When she accused him of swapping souls and stealing Holmes' body, he would reply, "No Sarah, it's me Holmes. I'm keeping you safe from men like that".

In his bedroom, Holmes did not sleep at all that night. His chest felt tight with fury and restlessness gripped him. He was used to being restless, but it was usually through boredom not agitation. He sat cross-legged on his bed smoking like a chimney, unable to relax.

He had sent some of his irregulars to keep a close eye on Sarah's house, so he was not worried on that front. If Alain tried any tricks, he would end up hurt.

He was disturbed that Sarah had been exposed to danger through one of his contacts when his back had been turned. He knew Pierre had chosen his timing carefully. Pierre had rat cunning; he had known that Holmes would never have agreed. Pierre had simply waited for his chance to act when Holmes was out of the way.

It was not that which kept Holmes awake, however. He knew he was in deep waters. He had not been himself tonight and he knew others had noticed. He was furious with Pierre, profoundly afraid for Sarah's safety and filled with rage at Alain's presumption.

All his attempts to keep a strict boundary between himself and Sarah had unraveled. He should never have taken on a case where he had prolonged contact with an unattached woman, particularly one he had been so instantly and unusually attracted to. Of course, if Sarah had been stupid or rather silly, all would have been fine. Instead, she was quite exceptional – resilient, independent, practical, hard-working, level-headed, resourceful and a quick learner. And she was also very, very pretty… Holmes had so many mental images of Sarah from his years of tracing her that it was hard to choose his favourite. In a rare bout of self-indulgence, Holmes let himself mentally dwell on the graceful curve of her white cheek, throat and shoulder in one of her costumes. Of course, posing as a stage technician, there had been times he had seen a great deal more than her shoulders. Principal dancers seemed to spend their lives doing quick changes in the wings and it seemed as though everything had to come off each time! He had been shocked the first time, but had gotten used to it after awhile. He always looked away. The men were expected to, but Holmes knew they often didn't bother – it was too common an occurrence. As for Sarah, she didn't seem consumed by embarrassment or even much self-consciousness. She viewed it as just her job, from what he could tell. Perhaps women in the twenty-first centuary were less self-conscious. He knew, pretty accurately, what her small form looked like without much on. It was impossible to work backstage without seeing it. He had pushed those images to the back of his mind for years, but they came flooding back tonight and he could feel his skin burning.

Holmes closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This had to stop and stop now. He knew he may have to see Sarah again regarding Alain, but after that, he was going to have to stay away from her for his own peace of mind.

It was only a week later that Holmes called for Sarah.

"We need your help, Miss Mounteney. Do you have an hour to spare before rehearsals?" he asked somberly.

"Yes, of course," Sarah said and followed him out to the cab he had waiting.

Holmes took her to a perfectly dreary building on the outskirts of London. It turned out to be an asylum. Just walking through the depressing, stark, stone corridors was enough to make Sarah feel mad. Inside one of the cells was Alain Laurent in a strait jacket. At least, it looked like Alain Laurent.

After trying to speak to him for a couple of minutes, Sarah knew it wasn't Alain. It was his body but it wasn't Alain. The handsome face and amber brown eyes were the same but the soul was different.

"What is your real name?" Sarah asked the unfortunate in the cell.

"They keep calling me Alain but that's not my name! My name is Thomas Blakeney. I am the second son of Earl Blakeney. Please help me!" he begged piteously.

"I'll do what I can," she promised.

"You need to see what has happened to Thomas Blakeney's property in the past week," Sarah said to Holmes when we came out of the cell, "I have a feeling it's been liquidated and taken out of the country."

Holmes went to see her after the performance that night.

"You were right. All of Thomas Blakeney's properties were sold last week and all the money has been transferred out of English bank accounts," Holmes said, a strange note in his voice.

"Too late to catch him now. Even if you could find Thomas' body somewhere on the continent, chances are that Alain has already moved out of it into someone else's to break the trail," Sarah said flatly.

"Perhaps that really is Alain in the madhouse and he's just deluded himself into thinking he's swapped souls and is Thomas Blakeney," Holmes said, not really believing it himself.

"How do you explain Thomas' estate being liquidated then? Why would Thomas suddenly do that and disappear? It's a bit too much of a coincidence," Sarah said.

"What do we do about poor Thomas in the madhouse?" Holmes said.

"Once he realises what has happened to him, he'll end up back there anyway, I should think," Sarah said pensively.

"He's headed for Bohemia, isn't he?" Holmes said grimly, after a few moments' silence.

"I'm pretty sure," Sarah replied with a nod.

"If he succeeds…" Holmes said and then paused, "Well, I suppose he won't be much worse than the current King, actually. He's far more clever, truth be told."

"He'd be much more dangerous," she commented.

"I think he's mostly interested in his own pleasure," Holmes sneered, "He will come back for you, Miss Mounteney. You will need to be careful," he added in a warning tone.

"If he makes it to the throne, there will be plenty of pretty young women to distract him. He won't be thinking of me," Sarah said confidently, believing it was true.

Holmes had a brooding look on his face.

"Don't be too sure. Men like that tend to get obsessive about the ones who get away," he said darkly.

"Don't be melodramatic, Mr Holmes," Sarah said acerbically, "It's time to go home."

Sarah was glad that Alain appeared to be out of her life. It was a strange chapter she was glad to see closed.

Sarah began learning French during the season in London. It was amazing how much study she could fit in during rehearsal. There were whole hours sometimes where she was not required on stage and although she had to be at the theatre because rehearsals were constant (and sometimes simultaneous), she had time to do French exercises or read simple French books. Sarah could also practice French conversation with some of the ballet girls who spoke it as some of them were from France or had lived there for awhile. She decided to learn French first as it was probably the most difficult language. Sarah would learn as time went on that this was correct and once she had a good understanding of French, the other languages seemed far easier to learn.

During the rest of this year after the Alain saga, Sarah saw nothing of Holmes and little of Watson. It was during this period that Holmes' practice really became busy for the first time and he solved many of his most famous cases during this year. On the rare occasions Sarah could make it to Paddington to see Mrs Laidley, it was only Watson who occasionally popped in. This didn't mean that Holmes didn't know what Sarah was doing most of the time. He still had his irregulars keeping an eye on her.

The season finally ended with a fat bonus for Sarah and a hefty pay rise promised for next season. The Company had made so much money on the tour that they wanted to ensure Sarah came back for the following season. They would tour again but not to so many locations. During the four month season in London, Sarah had added Don Quixote and Coppelia to her repertoire as well as tackling French. She liked Coppelia but she knew Don Quixote would be her splash next season. When she had shown Vladimir some of the new choreography she wanted to incorporate, his eyes had bugged out of his head. He had never seen anything like it. He had been speechless with excitement. Sarah knew she had a hit on her hands.

"Look Holmes, the posters for next season are already out. Miss Mounteney is featured on the one for the ballet season, of course," Watson said as they were strolling through the theatre district having just seen a violin concert on a rare afternoon of leisure.

"So it is," Holmes said, joining Watson in examining the image, "It's not a very good likeness, is it?" Holmes said flatly.

"You don't think so?" Watson replied, mildly surprised.

"No Watson, of course not! Everything is wrong – the nose, mouth and eyes are all the wrong shape," Holmes complained with a frown.

"Well, I don't think it's meant to be a portrait, Holmes. It's just to sell tickets to the ballet," Watson protested placidly.

"The artist ought to be fired if he can't do better than that," was Holmes opinion on the matter. His face expressed his disgust.

"Come on, Holmes. Mrs Hudson is expecting us both for dinner tonight," Watson said, giving up the debate and hoping to distract his friend who was currently scowling at the poster.

After her annual month long holiday which Sarah spent across the channel in Paris with friends from the Paris City Opera Ballet, it was back on another eighteen month tour. The company were only visiting the major cities this time and spending longer in each. This boded well for Sarah's training routine. Vladimir expected the fans from the smaller cities to be willing to travel to the larger cities to see Sarah and in this, he was proved correct.

Sarah spent a month refining Don Quixote and Coppelia in rehearsal and was traveling again within six weeks of returning from her holiday.

1887 through to 1889 was to be an exceptionally busy time for Holmes and Watson, including some of Holmes' most celebrated cases. As such, Sarah saw less of the pair on this tour than she had on previous tours.

About halfway through the tour, Sarah had a strange encounter with Irene Adler neé Norton. The company had just finished rehearsals and Sarah was going to head back to the hotel for a rest before the performance when Vladimir called her over.

"Miss Mounteney! I want you to meet Mrs Norton. She is asking for you!" he said excitedly.

When Sarah went over she saw an exquisitely beautiful woman standing next to him. She had corn silk hair, large turquoise eyes and a flawless creamy complexion. She was just past youth, but middle age hadn't touched her face yet. She was still as slender as a girl. How had Holmes described her to Watson – "a face that a man would die for"? Sarah could see what he meant. It was hard to look away.

She smiled at Sarah warmly and she looked even more beautiful. No wonder Holmes watched her concerts entranced. Sarah wasn't sure she wouldn't do the same!

"So you're the ballerina that Mr Holmes is so in love with," Irene said kindly, her eyes sparkling with amusement, "I had to meet you."

Sarah stared at her blankly for a full five seconds. Irene's words sounded so strange to Sarah that she was unable to process them. She I pulled herself together and said, "Oh yes, we're engaged." Sarah had almost forgotten about it, it had been so long since she had seen or spoken to Holmes.

Irene considered Sarah for a moment. To her surprise, she stepped closer to Sarah and slid her arm through Sarah's arm.

"I think Miss Mounteney and I are going to have a little chat in her dressing room. Its women's talk Vladimir, so be a dear and run away," Irene said with so much charm that Vladimir looked positively pleased to be dismissed.

"This way, Mrs Norton," Sarah said, "I think we can provide some tea or coffee for you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Irene regarded Sarah kindly over the rim of her coffee cup.

"I met Mr Holmes in the course of a case he was solving earlier this year," Irene said, "He is a very clever man but perhaps not always as clever as he would like to think."

"I find quite a lot of men aren't as clever as they like to think," Sarah said feeling rather gloomy. She sipped some much needed hot tea. Sarah liked Irene but she was unnerving Sarah with all her gorgeousness.

Irene threw back her corn silk hair and laughed heartily. "That is true. My husband, Mr Norton, is a lawyer and a very clever man in his own way but quite blind in others," she said affectionately.

Sarah could tell she loved her husband and liked him as well. That was pleasant for Sarah to see. So many women were derogatory about their husbands and Sarah found it quite depressing to listen to.

"I noticed before that when I said that Mr Holmes was in love with you, you were quite startled," Irene said, regarding Sarah thoughtfully.

Sarah opened her mouth to make some excuse about being tired and perhaps excited about meeting her, but Irene cut her off.

"I don't know Mr Holmes very well, to be honest. We were barely acquainted. However, there were some things that struck me about him. He is a most unusual man. For instance, he was not distracted from his purpose by my beauty or fame. Perhaps that sounds conceited to you, Miss Mounteney?" Irene asked, cocking her head to one side and regarding Sarah with amusement.

"I think if you're conceited you probably have a right to be," Sarah observed, "You would be lying if you pretended you didn't know you were extraordinarily beautiful."

"Beauty is something you are born with and cannot take credit for, but it is a very very useful thing. I am sure you are aware of this yourself, Miss Mounteney. I know you have plenty of admirers, as many as I did myself at the height of my fame," Irene said unapologetically, with a shrug.

Sarah looked at her uncomprehendingly. Surely Irene's fans were far more numerous? _Seeing the two of us together was like putting a peacock next to a sparrow_ , Sarah thought. _No-one would look at the sparrow._

"You think you are not beautiful?" Irene said in surprise. She seemed able to read Sarah's mind. "You should know your own powers better than that! You must learn to use them to your own advantage. Your beauty is totally different to my own, but just as powerful," she observed frankly.

Sarah didn't see it but she wasn't going to argue with someone so definite.

"But back to Mr Holmes. I am guessing from your reaction today, Mr Holmes' rather eccentric nature and the fact that the two of you are rarely seen together that this engagement is somewhat unusual?" Irene asked gently.

Sarah smiled. Irene was too clever by half.

"Yes, it is a rather unusual arrangement. I was surprised by what you said because I know Mr Holmes is quite definitely not in love with me," Sarah confessed, "but please don't tell anyone as the engagement serves a purpose for now."

Irene cocked her head to one side again and regarded Sarah closely.

"Are you sure he isn't in love with you?" Irene asked quite seriously.

"There has never been any sign of it," Sarah said truthfully. The conversation was beginning to upset her but she wasn't entirely sure why.

"Well, if a man spent that amount of time and energy keeping track of my movements and ensuring I was safe, I would definitely assume he was deeply in love with me," Irene said forthrightly.

Sarah stared at Irene. How did she know?

"How did you find out about that?" Sarah asked, frowning.

"Mr Norton is a member of the Society too," Irene said with an elegant shrug.

"And you're involved from time to time as well," Sarah said, with sudden realisation.

"And so are you," Irene countered.

Sarah was silent for a few moments.

"It's not what you think," Sarah said, staring into her teacup, "Mr Holmes considers me one of his unsolved cases."

"Rubbish!" Irene said with asperity, "Mr Holmes considers you a red-blooded, beautiful, eligible woman within his grasp."

Sarah stared at Irene. She really felt she was being over-romantic. To Sarah, it clearly showed that Irene was barely acquainted with Holmes, as she had said.

"I can tell you right now that if Mr Holmes' heart had not been well and truly taken at the time he was working on this case where I was involved, he would not have come so close to success. He would have been thoroughly distracted by me, like other men," Irene said confidently.

Sarah eyed Irene dubiously. She did not doubt that her beauty dazzled every man she met. It had dazzled Holmes too, as Watson had accounted. Sarah doubted it was enough to stop Holmes when he was on the scent of a case, however. She decided Irene was reading more into Holmes behaviour than was justified. Sarah had come to know Holmes quite well over the years, and she wasn't entirely convinced he even knew she was female.

There was a knock on the door and when Sarah called "come in" a very handsome, aquiline, dark head poked through and the gentleman's black eyes instantly rested on Irene.

"Come in, Mr Norton. I was just chatting to Miss Mounteney about Mr Holmes," Irene said with a smile that would melt a glacier. Sarah observed that Mr Norton probably went weak at the knees. Sarah thought that she probably would have too.

"Mr Holmes? Oh yes, he keeps the Society very busy keeping an eye on you when you're on tour, Miss Mounteney. He must be terribly in love with you," Mr Norton said, his black eyes resting on Sarah thoughtfully for a few moments.

Sarah sighed to herself but said nothing. It was all too complicated, she thought.

"Darling, we must leave soon. The train leaves in an hour and you haven't finished packing," Mr Norton said to his wife, already distracted.

Irene got up to go, gave Sarah a swift kiss on each cheek that Sarah was sure would have sent most men swooning, and waved good-bye with a bright, happy smile. Oh, to be that gorgeous, Sarah thought!

Sarah looked at herself in the lighted mirror and she was sure she was even plainer now than she had been an hour ago before she met Irene. Such was the after-effect of such dazzling exquisiteness!

Sarah poured herself a cup of tea and perversely wished it was scotch. Imagine if the word got out that a famous ballerina drank scotch, she thought with a smile. What a scandal!

Sarah was curiously depressed after meeting Irene. It wasn't just the inevitable comparison between Irene's flawlessness and Sarah's own face; it was all the talk of Holmes being in love with her. Nothing could be further from the truth, but when Irene had first said it out loud in the theatre, it had given Sarah a strange shock. She realised that there was a small ache of longing buried somewhere deep down which she'd never let herself acknowledge. Sarah realised that she'd probably never acknowledged it because she knew it was an impossible thing to want. It was like hoping a clock or a robot would fall in love. After all, if Irene couldn't inspire such emotion in him, who could? Wanting to be noticed by Mr Holmes was like wishing for the moon and Sarah was too practical to hurt herself in that way.

She had always cared too much about his opinion of her. His dislike of women grated on her nerves and his cold nature hurt her feelings which was ridiculous, he was cold to everybody after all. It wasn't personal. Wanting Holmes to be approving and warm was like wishing water could be dry. It went against nature.

His self-destructiveness had also bothered her although it was none of her business, really. She hated it and worried about it like she was his mother and she wasn't even his friend!

With a sigh of annoyance, Sarah picked up her things to go back to the hotel.

Holmes did mysteriously appear during the company's month long stay in Vienna. Sarah had been sulking in her hotel at the theatre district, deliberately not going dancing in case it was reported in the society pages and she got a third lecture on the subject from Holmes next time she saw him. As it was, he turned up at the hotel on her first free night in Vienna and took her to the outdoor ballroom himself.

It felt a bit odd to Sarah to see him after so long. It had been nearly nine months. He looked the same, but somehow older and more tired. He had obviously been working very hard recently.

"I knew you would want to go dancing," he said, nodding a perfectly groomed head at Sarah when she went downstairs to meet him. "I'll wait in the lobby while you put on your ball dress."

Holmes had his masterful face on again, Sarah observed with amusement. There was no question of being asked whether she wished to go, but she was so eager to go dancing that for once she didn't care.

It didn't take her long to change. Being a dancer, quick changes in the wings were her specialty.

"You look very nice, Miss Mounteney," Holmes said politely. Sarah wondered if he had even taken in what colour dress she was wearing. The thought made her smile to herself.

Sarah regarded Holmes in his extremely stylish and under-stated dress coat of the latest Parisian fashion. He could be surprising elegant when playing a part, as he obviously was at present.

While they drove over to the outdoor ballroom, Holmes brought her up-to-date on several cases. She recognised Silver Blaze, the Greek Interpreter and the Sign of Four – which meant that Watson had met Mary Morstan. There were others, but Sarah did not recognise them.

"Watson is quite taken with Mary Morstan," Holmes said morosely.

"Yes, he'll marry her," Sarah said, having already discussed some of the finer points of the cases with Holmes from what she remembered of Watson's accounts. "What do you think of her?"

Holmes didn't look happy about Sarah's revelation of Watson's upcoming nuptials.

"Oh, she's just a very ordinary woman," Holmes said dismissively with an air of impatience, "Watson says she has a spiritual face and is very attractive, but I don't see it myself."

Sarah tried not to laugh and failed.

"What is so funny?" Holmes asked with irritation.

"Well, you don't see any woman with the possible exception of Irene Norton," Sarah said smugly.

"Irene Norton, the opera star? What makes you say that?" Holmes demanded indignantly.

"Dr Watson said he wasn't sure whether you were more hypnotized by her beauty or by her voice when you go to opera concerts," Sarah teased. She did enjoy needling Holmes.

Holmes snorted inelegantly. "Trust Watson to come up such romantic nonsense," Holmes said edgily.

"I'm just teasing you, Mr Holmes," Sarah said limpidly.

It irritated Holmes that both Sarah and Watson jibed him about Irene Norton. It was true that he found Irene Norton beautiful, but so did every man who ever saw her. A person would have to be blind not to think she was beautiful. It was also true that he admired her musical talent. It did not mean that Holmes had any secret longings to make Mrs Norton a part of his life.

Holmes admired Mrs Norton's beauty in the same way he admired the art in London's gallery or a particularly perfect rose. He had no desire to possess it; he just enjoyed looking at it.

As with her musical talent, he truly took pleasure in listening to her sing but that did not make him want to get entangled with the woman herself even if she had been inclined to look in his direction which she clearly had not. Look where Mrs Norton's attentions had led that cad, the King of Bohemia, he thought. Yes, the King had wronged Mrs Norton but she was a demanding and passionate woman. She expected a man to devote all his time, attention and energy to her, which Norton was quite willing to do. The last thing Holmes wanted was a demanding woman in his life. He had too many interests and was too busy to dance attendance on anyone. His thin frame shuddered delicately at the thought.

Yes, Mrs Norton was beautiful, but so were tigers and no sane man got into a cage with one.

Then there was Sarah. He was incapable of comparing Sarah's beauty to Irene's. It was like comparing night with day. Their particular type of beauty was so unique and so opposite that it was impossible to say which was the greater. It was like saying the moon or the sun was the more beautiful. When it came to their talent, it was the same conundrum. Would he rather watch Sarah or listen to Irene? How did one compare them? It was simply insoluble. Their talents were too distinct.

Then there was the final conundrum. He knew why Irene left him cold, but he could not explain to himself why Sarah drew him like the moon drew the tide. It was not just her intelligence, independence or resilience. Irene had all of those. If he had to pin it down, it would have to be Sarah's warmth. She cared about the people around her. She had shown time and again that she cared about her fellow dancers and she had cared had about Waverley's future. He also knew that Sarah, for some reason he could not fathom and despite her frequent irritation with him, cared about him too. She had shown genuine interest and sympathy toward him from the very first time they met and he had rebuffed it time and again out of pure, unadulterated fear. She had even saved his life. He had frozen her out with suspicion and mistrust to the point of insult, under the guise of investigating her origins, simply to protect himself from the hypnotic effect of having a beautiful woman showing genuine interest, respect and authentic kindness for the first time in life. Irene, for all her many advantages, did not waste too much time on others unless they were useful to her. Holmes did not judge her for this; it did not make her a bad person in his eyes. It did leave him unmoved, however.

"Well, I wish Dr Watson all the best if he has genuine regard for Miss Morstan and she couldn't end up with a kinder man," Sarah said cheerfully, but she had the feeling that Holmes wasn't really listening.

"You should marry Watson yourself if you think so highly of him," Holmes said a touch acerbically. Sarah's praise of Watson nettled him, particularly in light of Watson's long-standing and school-boyish crush on her.

"I doubt Dr Watson would want to marry me and besides, I'm not ready to get married," Sarah said truthfully.

Holmes cocked his dark head and regarded Sarah thoughtfully.

"You had better hurry up if you want children," he remarked.

"Apart from the slight impediment of supposedly being engaged to you," Sarah said pointedly, "who said I wanted children anyway? It's death to a dancer's career."

Holmes stared at Sarah with an odd expression for so long that she began to feel uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Sarah finally said in irritation.

He shook his head slightly.

"I don't know. I've just never met a woman like you, that's all."

Holmes felt very strange. He had never, in all his life, met a woman who did not want children. It had been one the many reasons why he had resigned himself to life as a bachelor as a young age. He had known from a young age that he was sterile due to his illness as a boy. He had grown up with the knowledge and his father had liked to taunt him about it, telling him that he would never be a "real man" because he could not father children. In one sense, it had been a relief. He did not have the temperament for fatherhood although it may have been nice to have a son in some respects. On the whole however, he did not mourn it much. It had been a stumbling block with women. All the women he met as a young man certainly did want children. In all conscience, he could not rob them of their dreams and even if he had been tempted to lie to them, the recriminations would have been awful later.

He looked away for a moment and then said, "Going back to what you said earlier, if Watson had thought you were interested in him in any way, you would already be married to him. He gave up hope when you introduced Miranda to him," Holmes said bluntly. "I can tell you this now because I'm fairly sure he is going to marry Mary."

"Oh please, I don't believe that for a moment," Sarah said rolling her eyes.

With that, they arrived at the ballroom.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

 _I decided to_ _enjoy_ _myself and find out what happiness is._

Ecclesiastes 2:1

Holmes was very good, Sarah thought, he did dance with her most of the evening so she wouldn't have to just sit around.

Sarah began to see that in one sense, he was correct. Too much waltzing with one partner was a bit too familiar. In order to guide you around the floor, your partner had to hold you quite closely. After a few long waltzes you knew their scent, the lines of their body, the rhythm of their breathing. If you were seriously attracted to someone, it could probably get all a bit too thrilling, she mused. Even if you weren't particularly attracted to your partner, it could create a false sense of closeness. Sarah wondered how many young girls were seduced through the waltz.

Holmes' aftershave smelt divine and Sarah realised that despite his slenderness, he was immensely strong, easily as strong as her ballet partners who had to carry her in the air over their head. She knew those beautiful, long-fingered hands could easily crush hers. Their faces were close enough that she could see the changes the last few months had wrought. His face was leaner, his cheeks more hollow and his jaw more angular. Any smoothness or plumpness left over from youth had been carved away through hard work. Watson had mentioned something about Holmes being off the cocaine finally. Sarah wondered if it was permanent. She hoped so for his sake. Sarah seemed to remember something about Holmes using heavily during the Sign of Four case, something like three times a day. It appeared that something had changed so that Holmes was not actually using during this period after all. Sarah knew he would overcome the addiction and she hoped he was beating it now. Perhaps this period of drying out was why he looked older and more tired, she pondered.

All Sarah knew was that she was enjoying herself immensely and that she had missed seeing Holmes for so long. She felt a twinge of sadness when she remembered the conversation she had had with Irene Norton, but it was no use wishing for impossible things. Not when the present was so pleasant. For once, she was going to indulge her rather pointless and hopeless attraction to Holmes and enjoy the evening. It didn't matter after all, she was unlikely to see him again for months.

Holmes had known it was a mistake to come, but he hadn't been able to resist the opportunity to spend an evening whisking Sarah around the dance floor. He knew she would resent not being able to go, so he persuaded himself it would be alright to take her.

Right from the first dance, holding Sarah's slender curves close, Holmes knew he was in trouble. He had spent the better part of a year deliberately pushing thoughts of Sarah from his mind and focusing intensely on his work. Now, he could feel every soft curve as they danced, smell her perfume and hair, and see her eyes and face light up with excitement as she danced.

She seemed happy to go on revolving around the floor, so they kept dancing for a long time. She would frequently smile up at him, and laugh if he went too fast and she was having a hard time keeping up. Sometimes he did it deliberately just to hear her laugh.

Holmes realised quite early on in the evening that he felt very strange and he wrestled to pin down what it was. Finally, he realised that he felt happy. It was such a foreign experience that he hadn't been able to name it. He tried to remember when he had last felt like this – light and without any cares. Perhaps on a Christmas morning at Baker Street when he and Watson were both full of good cheer and light spirits. Tonight, however, there was an underlying exhilaration. He felt heady, like he had had too much to drink although all he had drunk all day was tea.

It was getting late but Holmes was still quite happy to dance. For Sarah, it had become quite hypnotic, revolving in Holmes' arms. She felt totally disconnected to her normal life and rather over-excited, if she were honest with herself.

Finally, when the braziers were getting low, Holmes led Sarah off the dance floor. To her surprise, he didn't lead her to a seat where they could get coffee, but to a shadowy corner away from the dance floor where the light from the braziers didn't reach. Sarah wondered if Holmes was meeting one of the Society members before they headed back to their respective hotels.

To her everlasting surprise, once they were enveloped in gloom, Holmes pulled Sarah tightly against him and kissed her. It was so unexpected, that Sarah didn't kiss him back straight away. She wondered if she was dreaming. Then her senses took over and she leaned into him, her arms going around his neck and her fingers finding the thick hair at his nape.

It was somehow typical of Holmes, Sarah thought dimly, to not say anything but just suddenly kiss her out of the blue and without warning.

Holmes might have staggered, if his back hadn't been close to a tree. His skin was burning and his legs were dissolving. He had been sure she would push him away and slap him. He had seen her slap men hard for far, far less. Instead, she was actually kissing him back and pressing herself against him as though she wanted that kiss as much as he did. It was more intoxicating than cocaine. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't.

Neither of them had any idea how long they were there in the deep shadows under some large trees, as the braziers burnt down. Neither of them spoke, they simply held each other like two people drowning.

Finally, Holmes dragged his lips from Sarah's and buried his face in her throat. She could hear his laboured breathing. She was pretty out of breath herself.

He wrapped his long arms around her and pulled her against himself, so her head was resting against his chest.

"I can't believe you didn't slap me," he finally said, still breathless.

Sarah laughed.

"Do you deserve it?" she asked, lifting her head to gaze up into his face.

He regarded her seriously.

"Maybe," he replied, suddenly somber. "I'm not a good prospect for you, Sarah. I lead a dangerous life which could put you in danger. I'm not rich. My family name is blackened. You have your pick of rich, titled, respectable, handsome men. I would be stealing your future."

Sarah remembered what Irene had said about using her "beauty" to her own advantage. Would it be enough to sway Holmes now? Sarah was not practiced in the arts of feminine wiles and doubted it would put a dent in Holmes' armour. However, she was willing to try.

She slid her arms around Holmes neck and standing on tiptoe, pressed her cheek to his hollow one.

"But I much prefer a brilliant eccentric like you," Sarah said honestly.

Holmes felt like something inside him as fragile as glass was about to shatter. He knew it was his self-control. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to take anything Sarah would give him, but that was not love and he loved Sarah.

Carefully he took hold of her forearms and pulled them away, drawing his face away from hers. It felt almost physically painful to push her away.

"Sarah, I can't steal your future," he said, looking down so she couldn't see his expression.

Sarah could only see the sharp outlines of his heavily shadowed face, but his shuttered and closed expression was obvious. She could feel some emotion building very rapidly in her chest and she suddenly realised it was anger. She knew there was hurt under the anger, but it was easier to feel angry right then.

She tugged her arms free from Holmes and stood glaring at him. She knew it was pointless to try and change his mind.

"I want to go back to the hotel," she said tightly.

It was too dark for Holmes to really see Sarah's expression, but he could tell from her voice that she was very, very angry. It was like a dash of cold water to the face. The fire that had been burning through his veins suddenly turned to ice.

"Sarah, I'm sorry. The last thing I wanted was to upset you. I was completely selfish. Please forgive me," Holmes said remorsefully. It would devastate him if they parted in anger now.

"I said, I want to go back to the hotel right now," Sarah repeated and started stalking toward the house. The carriages were all parked in the driveway.

Holmes caught up with her easily with his long legs, but she had already reached the braziers and he did not want to make a scene. He could see her face now and his heart sank even further. He knew that look. The last time he had seen it, she had been tossing furniture around her studio and brandishing a poker. He had no chance of getting through to her now. She refused to speak or listen to him in a mood like this. What was there to say, anyway? He couldn't take any of it back because it was still true. If he married her himself which he desperately wanted to do, he would be stealing a brilliant future from her and giving her an insecure one instead.

The carriage ride back to Sarah's hotel was completely silent. Sarah would not even look at Holmes. When they arrived at the hotel, Sarah finally turned to him and held out his ring.

"I don't want to continue with this pretense any longer, Mr Holmes. Please take your ring back now. Please also call your hound dogs off my trail. I don't want to be followed around and reported on any longer. If a ballet girl is only good enough for an evening's amusement then she certainly isn't worth any form of protection. I'll get the concierge to see me in, thank you," Sarah said fiercely.

When he wouldn't take the ring, she threw it on the seat between them and got out. He was so stunned that he missed the opportunity to take her arm and stop her leaving.

If she had stabbed him and twisted the blade it probably would have hurt less, Holmes reflected, his teeth clenched. It served him right for allowing himself to even think of a woman like Sarah.

He had been physically incapable of taking the ring from her. His hand would not move to take it. He had simply stared at it while his chest filled with indescribable pain. He slowly picked up the ring as the carriage took off, but he couldn't put it back on his finger. He dropped it into his waistcoat pocket and slowly closed his eyes. Nothing would help tonight. Not even cocaine.

Holmes went back to his own hotel and changed into his smoking jacket and stretched his long legs in front of the fire. He lit his pipe and was grateful that he no longer carried cocaine with him and had no idea how to procure it in Vienna, otherwise he doubted he could resist it tonight.

He had spent the last few months watching a genuine love flower between his best friend and Mary Morstan which had been both wonderful and painful. Painful, because Holmes knew he could no longer have the same degree of intimacy with Watson once he married Mary and he would miss his friend. Also painful because there was some degree of envy. He wished he had more of Watson's open, generous nature and less of his own cold, closed one. Then he could have the same joy that Watson was experiencing, but he knew himself too well.

And now he had come to Vienna. He had promised himself, way back at the start of Sarah's tour that he would visit her now so she would not have to miss out on waltzing under the stars which she loved so much. He made a noise of disgust. Why was he lying to himself? He had not come here simply to make Sarah happy; he had come because he couldn't stay away from her any longer. He had no idea what he had been thinking, kissing her like that. He was not used to feeling happy. It had been like a drug or a spell. He had let his feelings take over completely, followed his impulses and it had led to disaster. He had totally and completely lost his head. His skin flushed as he remembered kissing her in the shadows beyond the dance floor. Although he had done terrible damage, he would always have those memories, but he suspected they would only cause anguish in times to come.

Sarah sat in her bath at the hotel and tried to resist the urge to break things. She was not at home and should not do damage to her hotel room like a hooligan. Still, she badly wanted to smash something.

She was so angry with Holmes that she could have punched him, but as he was an expert boxer this would probably have been an unwise move. She wasn't entirely sure if she was angry with him because he had played her or because she hadn't gotten her own way – perhaps both.

Sarah was in the middle of a satisfying fantasy of giving him a good right hook when she suddenly dissolved into tears. To her horror, she sat in the bath and sobbed and sobbed. She knew it wasn't just about Holmes leading her on and the loss of a short-lived but brilliant hope that he loved her. It was about all the other losses too. The loss of her home in 2010, the loss of her old identity, the loss of her family (not that they were a huge loss), the loss of her old friends, the loss of her modern and comfortable lifestyle, the loss of all that was familiar. She was a stranger in a strange land. Holmes had always seemed like someone she could really rely on even at his most irritating. Now he had let her down badly and in the process, destroyed something fragile and precious.

Exhausted by the emotion of the past few hours, Sarah crawled into bed as dawn was breaking. It was a good thing that she wasn't performing that coming night.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

 _Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful._

 _Proverbs 27:6_

Holmes stared moodily at a piece of paper in his hand, the smoke from his briar pipe filling the room. Watson, who was visiting, knew something was afoot.

"What have you got there, Holmes?" he asked, hoping to break into his reverie.

"Remember that ghastly series of murders last year, Watson? The ones that they linked back to one person and the papers began calling him 'Jack the Ripper'?" Holmes said, taking his pipe out of his mouth only long enough to make the remark.

"Yes, how could anyone forget? The reporting in the papers alone was enough to chill one's blood," Watson said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Inspector Abberline of Scotland Yard has given me a list of his suspects and spent some time with me this afternoon discussing the case which, as you know Watson, still isn't solved," Holmes explained, his pale eyes returning to the slip of paper.

"There hasn't been a murder for months. Are they expecting another?" Watson asked, alarmed.

"There was nearly six weeks between the double murder of Stride and Eddows, and then Mary Kelly. It's only been three months since the Kelly murder. Another strike is still very possible," Holmes replied, his brows drawn together in concentration as he studied the list of suspects.

"Who is on the list?" Watson asked, half afraid to know.

"Several very significant members of English and foreign aristocracy," Holmes said, thin-lipped. He thrust the paper toward Watson who read the list with a growing expression of incredulity.

"These are all members of the highest order of aristocracy!" Watson exclaimed, "Why are they suspected?"

"There is proof that the Ripper was using a coach with a royal crest on the side. Naturally, this is the perfect escape vehicle after a murder. No policeman is going to stop and search a royal coach even after a mutilated body is found," Holmes said ironically, folding his spare frame into a chair.

Watson simply stared at Holmes.

"Are they sure?" he said, feeling a bit sick.

"Several witnesses have reported seeing a royal coach around the location of the murders and a royal coach has been seen quite often seen in Whitechapel, particularly near the houses of prostitution. This coach is always driven by a sandy haired man in "shabby genteel" clothes. A man who fits the same description has also been seen with some of the victims on the night they were murdered," Holmes out-lined succinctly.

Watson blanched and looked over the list again.

"Why these particular suspects?" he asked.

"Because they have access either to the Royal Mews or to coaches identical to those in the Royal Mews. Also, they have been seen in Whitechapel recently by more than one witness," Holmes replied flatly.

"Whitechapel? What reason would people from Europe's first families have to go to Whitechapel?" Watson asked, faintly bewildered and disgusted, "It's hardly a reputable area".

"Perhaps the high number of houses of prostitution could answer that question, Watson," Holmes said crisply.

Watson shuddered delicately, "Imagine the disease, Holmes!" he said.

"I'd rather not," Holmes replied, wrinkling his long nose slightly.

Watson stared thoughtfully at the list.

"You know, all the people on this list will be at Buckingham Palace for the annual Garden Party in a couple of days. Miss Mounteney has been invited," he said conversationally.

"Who invited her?" Holmes asked, glancing sharply at Watson.

"The Saxe-Coburgs, of course," Watson said mildly.

"I thought perhaps a son of some Duke or Earl had invited her to accompany them but she had a direct invitation from the Palace, you say?" Holmes said, a speculative gleam in his eye.

"Oh yes, with the royal insignia on it and all. Mary saw it," Watson confirmed.

Holmes hesitated for a few moments. He and Sarah had had no communication at all since the disastrous meeting in Vienna. He had locked away the ring and said nothing about it to Watson.

"Miss Mounteney may prove to be very useful in this matter, Watson," Holmes postulated, his shrewd grey eyes staring into the far distance.

"You wouldn't try and put her in the way of any danger, surely Holmes?" Watson asked, somewhat alarmed.

"Of course not!" Holmes said immediately.

Watson clearly remembered Holmes towering rage when Pierre had allowed Miss Mounteney to meet Alain Laurent. It was unlikely he would do anything to endanger her.

"I haven't had my scouts keeping an eye on her in for years to go and put her in the path of danger now," Holmes said, leaning back in his chair to puff on his pipe again. "Do you think she could be trusted to try and engage the suspects on that list in conversation at the garden party, Watson?" he added, changing tack.

"You don't think she could end up being a victim herself, do you?" Watson asked anxiously.

"The murderer, whoever he is, has a fixation on prostitutes not dancers," Holmes replied dryly, "Add to that the fact that he will meet up with her in his own milieu amongst his peers at the garden party and I think it is highly unlikely. He only attacks those he considers the dregs of society. The dregs of society do not attend royal garden parties."

"I hope you're right, Holmes," Watson said dubiously.

"Of course, I could invite myself along as her escort," Holmes said, unsure how Sarah would view the idea, "then I would have access to them myself".

"Maybe she has already lined up another escort," Watson said doubtfully.

"There is only one way to find out," Holmes said, getting up energetically and throwing on his outdoor coat, "Come on, Watson. Miss Mounteney is usually at home this time on a Saturday."

"It's remarkable how much you know about her," Watson muttered as they made for the door.

Sarah was extremely surprised to have Holmes and Watson show up at her door. Holmes and Sarah had not communicated at all since Vienna and nor did she wish to. She thought it rather brave of Holmes to show up now.

"How can I help you, gentlemen?" Sarah said, after she had poured the tea (quite an art in Victorian England – she had learned how by watching Mrs Laidley).

Watson and Holmes exchanged a glance.

"You're quite right, Miss Mounteney. We do need your help. I understand from Watson here that you've been invited to the annual royal garden party," Holmes began smoothly.

Sarah figured Holmes would know about that. He knew about every other damn thing she did, she thought a trifle viciously. Even now, after she told him to call his hound dogs off, he still knew exactly what she was doing.

"Yes, that's true," Sarah said.

"I'm working on a case for Scotland Yard and there will be some suspects in attendance. If you haven't invited anyone for an escort, I was hoping you would allow me to escort you – if it's not too much of an imposition," Holmes said politely with a nod of his dark head.

It was like Vienna never happened, Sarah reflected. In fact, it was almost as though most of the past five years had not happened, she thought. Holmes was speaking to her now in much the same way he did when they had first met. Any trace of familiarity had gone and it hurt.

Several men had already invited Sarah, including the very handsome Count of Winchester. Sarah had been inclined to go alone as accepting invitations gave dangerous signals. Men soon became oddly possessive should Sarah accept just one invitation. There was no harm in going with Holmes, however. They knew exactly where we stood with each other and it was strictly business, Sarah mused.

"Of course Mr Holmes, that would be very pleasant," Sarah said, "Am I allowed to know anything about the case or does it all have to be top secret?"

Holmes was secretly relieved. It would have been very easy for Sarah to refuse on the pretext of having a former engagement.

"The man Holmes is hunting down is very dangerous, Miss Mounteney," Watson said warningly.

"The men Mr Holmes hunt down are always very dangerous, Dr Watson," Sarah replied somewhat impatiently.

"Have you heard of the Jack the Ripper murders?" Holmes asked after a moment's hesitation.

Of course Sarah had heard of the Jack the Ripper murders! They were still legend in the twenty-first centuary. She'd seen movies about him and read books about him. No-one ever found out who he was. It all seemed somewhat gothically romantic in the distant future – all that Victorian fashion and gaslight. It wasn't so romantic to think about being in London while he was still on the loose. Of course, at the beginning of 1889 where she now was, he was still about.

"Yes, I have," Sarah replied. "They're rather famous, you know. I've read a fair bit about them."

Holmes and Watson exchanged another glance.

"So you know who the murderer is then?" Holmes said immediately, his eyes pinning her down.

"No, they never caught him or if they did, never admitted who it was – I believe for political reasons. I can give you some tips though," Sarah said, "He uses a coach with a royal crest on the side."

Holmes and Watson exchanged another glance, this time a very serious and knowing one.

"I should not be surprised that you know these things by now, I suppose," Holmes drawled, "What I'm about to tell you, you can't tell another living soul. Do you promise?" Holmes said, his grey eyes boring into her.

 _Who could I tell that would believe me?_ Sarah thought peevishly.

"I promise, Mr Holmes," she replied mildly.

"Scotland Yard believe that the murderer is either English or European aristocracy," Holmes said, after a brief pause, "There is very good evidence for this. We have a list of suspects. The garden party is one place where they will all be present. It would be a good opportunity for me to make their acquaintance. It would also be helpful if you could ingratiate yourself with as many of them as possible to gain entrée into their homes. You have become so famous that it shouldn't be difficult for you."

Sarah thought about what he said as she sipped a second cup of tea. It would mean becoming acquainted with some very unpleasant men. Obviously if they were suspects, it was for a good reason. She deduced that these men must have been seen in the region of the murders, which if her memory served her correctly, was Whitechapel. She had only been in London a few years but she already knew Whitechapel was a very unsavoury sector of London. If they were aristocracy, they could only have been there for the houses of prostitution. Goodness only knows what venereal diseases these men would have. She tried not to shudder.

"I'm happy to try and be of assistance, Mr Holmes," Sarah said finally, "However, I'm not some over-protected ingénue. If these men are suspects, it is probably because they frequent Whitechapel for reasons that can't be discussed in polite company. I would rather not visit their homes without a chaperone of some kind. Those are my conditions."

"That's very wise, Miss Mounteney," Dr Watson said approvingly.

Holmes nodded. "Of course, Miss Mounteney. We would take every precaution. I would accompany you personally, either posing as a chaperone from your company or perhaps your driver."

Watson's wedding was a few days before the garden party. Holmes reflected that it was just as well the ice had been broken in asking Sarah's help with the Ripper case. Watson's wedding would have been a very uncomfortable affair if he had not spoken to Sarah at all since Vienna.

The wedding turned out to be very simple. A short ceremony in a church with only a handful of people, as Watson was as without family as Holmes himself. Sarah sat (quite deliberately, Holmes had no doubt) on the other side of the aisle to Holmes and watched the plain sacrament with a genuine smile of pleasure that lit up her usually serious face and made her eyes glow. Mrs Laidley and Sarah nodded their heads together, commenting about the dress and flowers probably, Holmes thought.

They all went back to the Watson's new home and cut the wedding cake with some tea or champagne before seeing the couple off on a very short honeymoon to Cornwall of three days.

The Watsons were so genuinely happy that Sarah had no intention of ruining their day by glowering at Holmes or being in a bad humour and no-one seemed to notice anything amiss.

Holmes felt very strange in the church. He always did at weddings. He was happy for Watson, although sorry that he was losing the companionship they'd once had. However, he always felt a bit surreal at weddings, as though he had momentarily entered a world that had nothing to do with him and never would. The feeling of looking through a thick pane of glass at the world was particularly strong at a wedding. There was something going on that he could not touch or access or understand in any way. It was a relief to get away and he was glad that he had been asked to very few, having had so few friends in his life.

For a woman who wasn't ready to get married yet, Sarah looked genuinely joyful for the bride and groom, Holmes observed. However, she kept her back to him for the entire service and only acknowledged his presence once they had gathered at the Watson's house. He wasn't going to be forgiven anytime soon, he realised. He hadn't appreciated how important Sarah's regard was until he lost it, he admitted. There was a vast expanse that had opened up inside him since Vienna, as large and barren and desolate as a desert.

The day of the garden party was cool, bright and sunny. Holmes picked Sarah up in a cab and they arrived fashionably late, but not so late so as to be rude to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. The ride over was a silent one. Holmes glanced at Sarah a few times as though he wanted to say something, but she deliberately kept her gaze out the window. If he apologised again for Vienna, Sarah wasn't sure she wouldn't try that right hook on him after all.

Queen Victoria was already in the winter of her reign, King Albert long dead. Sarah was rather sorry to have not had the opportunity to have met the younger Victoria, who intrigued her.

Holmes had sent Sarah the list of suspects a week before the party. It wasn't very long – only about half a dozen people. He had also managed to find reproductions of portraits in various books, so she had some idea what they looked like. She didn't have the heart to tell him she was terrible with faces.

Sarah had decided that the best way to secure entrée into the homes of these men was to let it slip that she was considering giving a series of private performances during the remainder of the season in London and then let the news circulate. Chances are, the men would come to her throughout the afternoon. There wasn't a first family in Britain who didn't want Sarah to perform at a private party as she had never agreed to do so before now.

The first step was to find the biggest tattle in the room. That was easy. The young Earl of Sandwich was both an admirer and a terrible gossip. Sarah made sure she was in his part of the garden as soon as she arrived and he came over almost immediately.

Their conversation was short as he was bursting to tell the news to his acquaintances so they could get in first with the invitation.

Throughout the afternoon, Sarah was approached by so many people with invitations that she was afraid the right men might not get a chance to speak to her.

Fortunately, by the time the party was nearly over, all of them had spoken to her. It had been a very long day, however. Sarah never stayed at social events that long.

Sarah had deliberately made no definite arrangements with anyone, simply saying that she was happy to listen to any invitations and would get back in touch with everyone once she knew her theatre performance schedule over the next few months in London.

Sarah knew that she would only be doing six private performances and exactly who they would be for.

Holmes watched Sarah's strategy from far enough away that he would not interfere and close enough to ensure that she was perfectly safe. It was unlikely that she was in any danger at a royal garden party anyway. Her strategy was foolproof and clever. She simply dangled the carrot that everyone wanted a bite of and then picked off her 'victims'. A private party would give him and Watson clear scope to investigate while everyone was engaged and probably tipsy.


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N: For those readers not familiar with the Canon, the thing that Holmes says in this chapter to infuriate Sarah is a direct quote from the Canon._

 **Chapter Thirty-One**

 _and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee._

 _Psalm 73:25_

In the Watsons' home after the garden party, the suspects were discussed at length and the subject of the coaches with the royal crest came up. As it turned out, both Holmes and Watson had already been in possession of that information when Sarah had mentioned it. Only Scotland Yard and Holmes knew about it however.

"Only the royal family or visiting royalty are able to use these coaches," Watson said.

"Don't they send the coaches out to bring people to the palace for appointments as well? Visiting diplomats and heads of state use them. Also, the Queen's doctor and her personal psychic are picked up for regular appointments. Don't they also use coachmen who don't belong to the Royal Mews to drive people on occasion too?" Sarah asked.

"Did you say they use coachmen who aren't attached to the Mews?" Holmes said sharply.

"Yes," Sarah said, "I know because young Lord Barham often uses a coach driver who also drives for the Royal Mews."

"Is he the one who offered you that fabulous diamond brooch?" Watson teased, smiling in amusement as he knew from Holmes that Sarah had refused it.

"That's him," Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know this coach driver's name?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, Nettley. If you want to make contact, he'll probably be at the theatre tonight after the performance. Lord Barham is usually hanging around after the Sunday performance and I've only seen him with this driver," Sarah observed.

"Well, I think we'll be there too," Holmes said.

"You know the stage manager will always let you in," Sarah said.

"Why is it important, Holmes?" Watson asked, after Sarah had left to get ready for her performance that night.

"If this coach driver is well known at the Mews, it means he could take a royal coach out on the pretext of running a legitimate errand without being questioned too much. I don't think this mystery driver is the murderer but he could be in collusion with the murderer," Holmes said frowning deeply, his head wreathed in tobacco smoke.

"Why would he do something like that?" Watson asked, his expression horrified.

"This man could have something over him – debt or a secret the driver wants kept hidden. He may be threatening the driver's family. You just don't know," Holmes said with a shrug.

"How would you catch him?" Watson asked curiously.

"We need to figure out which driver it is first. I doubt they would use many drivers not attached to the Mews. They're very careful about the characters of those they do employ permanently. It shouldn't be too hard to narrow it down," Holmes said thoughtfully.

Over the next four months, Sarah danced at private balls held by the six suspects. She had never agreed to do this before as she knew all the first families in London would want her to perform at their parties and how do you chose which to say yes to and which to say no to, Sarah pondered?

The balls were arranged specifically in honour of her special appearance and all their acquaintances were desperate for an invitation, so they turned out to be very large events.

As many of the same people were coming to the balls, Sarah had to choose different pieces for each one.

Watson and Holmes attended as her chaperones but both wore disguises, Holmes more successfully than Watson.

To Sarah's own surprise, she quite enjoyed the private performances. The audiences were appreciative and after she had danced three signature pieces from her repertoire, she was free to enjoy the ball.

Mixing with the aristocrats at the last of these glittering events, she overheard a conversation between one of the hosts and a servant regarding a message for the coachman Nettley. Excusing herself, she went to find Holmes and Watson who had slipped away into a small drawing room and were having a conversation in low tones.

"I would not tell them too much. Women are never to be entirely trusted, not the best of them," Holmes was saying as Sarah approached. She suddenly felt winded, as though she had been hit very hard. She knew from experience that Holmes did not have a high opinion of her gender, but the stark and rather brutal evidence was breath-taking.

"Well, I wouldn't trust anything I have to tell you in that case. In fact, I'm not entirely sure why I've put myself out to such an extent considering you have so little faith in anything I have to contribute," Sarah said in freezing tones as she walked up to them. Her eyes had gone very green and as cold as chips of ice.

Watson glanced at Holmes, completely horrified and at a loss for what to say.

Holmes could feel the blood freeze in his veins. It was something he never would have said in Sarah's hearing. In fact, it was a sentiment he would never have dreamed of applying to Sarah herself. She was so outside his experience of women generally that Holmes would never have included Sarah in any category labeled 'typical woman'.

"Miss Mounteney, I apologise. We were discussing another case. Of course I do not include you in what I said," Holmes said smoothly, with no obvious sign of discomfort except for a flush of red along his cheekbones that rapidly faded.

"Of course you do," Sarah said with deep disgust and walked off.

Holmes immediately caught up in a few long strides. Watson scurried after him.

"Miss Mounteney, please don't be upset with me. Of course we value your assistance. We could never have progressed so far without you," Holmes said gallantly.

"Of course you couldn't!" Sarah said viciously, "Do you think I don't know that? I'm not stupid. I know my own value, even if you don't!"

"Sarah, I know you're angry and you have a right to be. Can you put it aside and tell us what you know? It may save a life," Holmes said, clenching his thin jaw and trying to sound reasonable.

Sarah glared at him for a few seconds, not even slightly convinced by his apologies or explanations, and then briefly told them both what she had heard.

"But I wouldn't put too much trust in it. After all, I'm only a woman!" she added fiercely and then turned on her heel and left.

Watson thought that Holmes looked rather pale for the rest of the afternoon, but he didn't like to mention it. After all, the case had been quite stressful.

That night, after following up Sarah's information and finding that it was (as he had known it would be) entirely reliable, Holmes sat in his room and smoked steadily hoping to calm his shredded nerves. In all honesty, he simply did not put Sarah in the same category as other women. She was in a league of her own. As Irene Norton was uniquely cunning and dangerous, so Sarah had unique integrity and character. Unlike Irene, Sarah was a true gentlewoman. Her blueblood ancestry came through in her conduct and nature. He would, in all honesty, trust Sarah with his life. She had already proven herself in that respect, Holmes recalled, the memory of his fear for her life after the shooting rippling across his skin.

When he spoke to Watson, he was speaking of the women he had known all his life before ever meeting Sarah and the women he now dealt with in the line of his work. Nothing in his life before Sarah had ever convinced him to trust womankind in general, but he did trust her. She was as consistent as the sun rising and setting, even that dreadful temper of hers was reliable. He knew he had done further damage to their already devastated relationship. Was he capable of anything else, he wondered bitterly? He didn't see how she could ever forget what he had said.

Although it had worked perfectly, he regretted getting Sarah involved in the Ripper case. Seeing her at the garden party and then at the six balls had been torturous. He had to exercise all his self-control not to let his gaze linger on her constantly and to act normally. He desperately wanted to speak to her about Vienna, but had no idea what to say. She had not been encouraging, staying silent and not even looking at him if they were ever alone. Between his feeble attempts to behave normally and Sarah's stand-offishness, it was like they were mere polite acquaintances again. It was painful. He was sure that she felt they were merely using her, particularly now that she had overheard his thoughtless remark. In reality, he had simply grasped at an opportunity to see her again but had regretted it almost at once.

At the same moment, Sarah was at home in her bed with a sick, compressed feeling in her chest. She was bitterly angry with Holmes but worse, she was bitterly disappointed in and disillusioned with him. She really felt he had let her down. Sarah wanted Holmes to be the amazing hero of Watson's stories and he insisted on being a very flawed man. She hated that he could never trust or truly like her because she was female. His distaste for her gender ate at her corrosively. It repulsed and infuriated her. Most of all, she was angry that he made use of her to help solve his cases while holding her in such low esteem. She was even angrier at herself that she let him. She would not do so again, she vowed.

At the end of the season, Sarah found out from Watson that they had indeed traced the Ripper and he had been killed by the regular force attempting to escape capture. The coachman Sarah had mentioned to them at the beginning had been implicated and was due to be hanged.

It wasn't long after Sarah got back from her holiday that she had a rather odd encounter.

Since the series of concerts where Holmes and Watson conducted their investigations, Sarah hadn't heard from Holmes for three or four months. Sarah knew she wouldn't hear from him again unless there was another case where she could be put to use. Their relationship, whatever it had been, was well and truly over.

The news of their broken engagement had come out almost immediately. Someone had noticed Sarah wasn't wearing the ring anymore and had told the press. The only thing Sarah could tell the journalists that pestered her was that they had ended the engagement by mutual agreement. She would make no further comment. They had a field day with speculation. Sometimes Sarah was the heart-broken and wronged women (rather closer to the truth) and Holmes was a dreadful cad. Other times Holmes had been thrown over as Sarah set her sights for a better match. On the whole, the journalists tended to agree that Sarah could do much better.

Being seen together at the Queen's garden party had rather confused everyone, but as it was a one off event that was never repeated, the speculation soon died down again.

The proposals and propositions soon came in thick and fast. There was one invitation that Vladimir insisted Sarah keep as the family was an important patron of the arts. Sarah wasn't impressed.

The invitation was from the Count of Winchester. He insisted that they should meet in a public place, as Sarah did not have a family or chaperone, to put the meeting on an appropriate footing. Sarah quite liked him for that unusual consideration. He arranged for them to meet in a small, quiet tearoom during a time of day that would afford them privacy but would not leave them alone.

The Count looked like a modern day movie star with wavy gold hair, piercing blue eyes and cheekbones you could cut paper with. He was devastatingly elegant and vaguely reminded Sarah of a young David Bowie. Sarah had a sudden insight into how Holmes probably felt about Irene Norton – rather dazzled by such gratuitous good-looks. He was also the richest titled man in England and therefore the most eligible.

He was extremely polite and respectful. He had the poise and polish of an aristrocrat but Sarah sensed he had an unusually sensitive nature.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today, Miss Mounteney," the Count said courteously as Sarah arrived, standing up until she was seated in that puzzling way that all Victorian men did.

"It is a pleasure, Lord Winchester," Sarah lied politely. She felt less annoyed about it seeing as he was so handsome.

"I'm sure you get pestered by a great many men," he continued in a low voice, after ordering tea for them both.

Sarah wasn't sure how to reply to that but it didn't matter, as the Count continued speaking.

"I will make myself plain from the outset. I understand that your long engagement to Mr Sherlock Holmes has come to an end. I hope I don't cause distress by mentioning it," he said considerately.

Any mention of Holmes was likely to cause distress, but that wasn't the Count's fault, Sarah reflected. Again, Sarah stayed silent.

"I know that it is still quite soon, but I hope you will consider my suit, Miss Mounteney," the Count said formally. His posture was upright, but his eyes were lowered as though he was afraid of her reaction.

It was fortunate that Sarah had lived in Victorian times long enough to understand he was asking permission to court her with a view to marriage. She had no idea what to say. Holmes was out of her life and the Count was very attractive, but did she want to marry him? If Sarah gave him permission to court her, she knew it would be hard to disentangle herself later if she changed her mind. The more important the family, the harder it was. The only family more important than the Winchesters were the Saxe-Coburgs.

Then there was the small matter of being a ballet girl among true blue bloods. Sarah would be looked down on for the rest of her life and probably resented. Is that what she wanted for herself? Castles and estates and fabulous jewels were all very well and good, but who wants to spend your life among people who despise you, she contemplated?

Finally, what on earth would Vladimir say if Sarah gave a flat "no"?

"Lord Winchester, I think it is too soon since my engagement to Mr Holmes to be thinking of all this yet," Sarah said, probably with a great deal of truth in it.

Sarah smiled warmly at him because she liked him. He had far more sensitivity and thoughtfulness than most men she had met.

"To be honest, it sounds very tempting," Sarah said, also honestly, "but I just can't think of it yet."

"Would you ever consider it, Miss Mounteney? Please be honest. I would rather know now if it is completely hopeless," he said, his slender frame tense.

"Yes, I would consider it sometime in the future," Sarah said sincerely.

He looked up at Sarah then for the first time, his eyes blazing with a blue flame.

"Then I will wait and ask again after a reasonable period, Miss Mounteney. I will wait as long as it takes," he said firmly.

Sarah realised that the Count had a passionate streak under the polite, sensitive face he showed the world.

Sarah pondered the Count's behaviour on the way back to Oxford Street. He was someone that she could imagine marrying and being quite happy with, oddly enough. However, the thought of him kissing her did not make her skin flame the way the thought of Holmes kissing her did. The idea of kissing the Count was quite pleasant, but not particularly exciting. Sexual chemistry was an odd thing. It would be easier to live with the Count in many respects, she conjectured, far less of a roller coaster ride than trying to have an eccentric like Holmes in one's life.

It was pointless speculating. Holmes did not want her in his life. He may desire her on some level, but he was too quick to make up all sorts of objections to them being together. At least the Count knew that he wanted Sarah in his life and was not playing games. Perhaps in a few months, she would be ready to get to know the Count better.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

 _Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame._

 _Song of Solomon 8:6_

Holmes got the report from the irregulars about Sarah's meeting with the Count of Winchester that evening.

Of all the proposals she had received, this would be the hardest to turn down. It was the ultimate prize in the London marriage market at present.

Yet, she had cleverly made no commitment at all in either direction. She had not turned him down nor given him permission to court her. She would make a good diplomat, Holmes mused.

Holmes threw the brief report in the fire. He wanted Sarah to turn the Count down flat, the way she did all her other suitors. This was the first time she hadn't. What was different this time, he speculated. Had title and money won her over after all? Or was it the man's legendary good-looks? Undoubtedly both, Holmes thought sourly, throwing his pipe on his desk under the window. Those factors plus not having the engagement to him limiting her options any longer.

He tried very hard not to think about Sarah in the arms of the incredibly handsome Count, but it was an image that burned itself into his brain like a brand. It was times like this that he remembered why he had taken cocaine.

It was only a week later that one of the Society members paid him a visit. He had been on a long assignment on the Continent and had only returned to England. He and his wife had been staying in the same hotel as Sarah the fortnight she was performing in Vienna.

"I didn't report this, as I didn't think it was anything important in terms of Miss Mounteney's safety, but it sort of stuck in my mind," Donley said with a shake of his ginger head.

"What Donley?" Holmes said edgily.

Donley looked alarmed at Holmes irritation. Holmes was very powerful in the Society and not a man to be trifled with.

"Miss Mounteney came back very, very late one night. It would have been the early hours of the morning. We only knew this because we had also been out late at the Opera and then a small party," Donley said, trying to be precise and present the facts. He knew Holmes liked that.

"Yes, yes," Holmes said with an impatient gesture. It was obvious to Holmes that it was the night they had gone dancing. Sarah usually kept very regular hours within her norms of her schedule.

"The maids brought up a bath for her. As you know, she baths every night for some reason. Well, my wife said she could hear terrible sobbing not long after. Mrs Donley was getting changed in the dressing room which has the common wall. I went in there to hear for myself and sure enough, Miss Mounteney was crying as though her heart was broken," Donley said, shaking his head again and frowning with concern, "Why would she be so upset, Holmes? Did someone she know die suddenly?" Donley speculated.

There was silence.

"Why, Mr Holmes, what is it? Are you sick? You look quite ashen," Donley said suddenly in alarm.

"I'm fine, Donley. Thank you for the report. I'm expecting a client soon, so I will have to ask you for the rest of your report regarding the Society another time," Holmes said in his incisive tones.

Donley looked relieved that Holmes was himself again and left swiftly.

Holmes sat down quickly in one of his wing chairs and buried his narrow face in his white hands, drawing in a deep breath. This was the second time he had made Sarah cry (that he knew about) and it was a worse shock than the first time had been. If he could snatch it all back, he would. Every stupid word he had said, he would take back. If he had his time again, he would simply take his chances and propose. Being turned down could not be worse than this. At least he would not be in this terrible limbo of not knowing and having Sarah furious with him. To hell with whatever better prospects she may have. She had had plenty of opportunity to grasp them until now and she hadn't. He had pretended he was being noble, stepping back to allow a worthier suitor to give her a better future. It was another lie to add to all the other lies he had told himself in order to avoid his own feelings. He was afraid of getting swept away by a tide stronger than himself, of drowning in something powerful that he could not comprehend or control. He had controlled his world so carefully as a man. He could not do that with his own heart. He had tried and failed.

Now, she had the very opportunity before her that he had pretended he wanted for her and he felt cold and sick at the thought. What could he do now but let her choose?

"Did you know that Miss Mounteney is being pursued by the Count of Winchester?" Watson said incredulously to Holmes at Baker Street not long after Donley's report.

"Yes, I had been made aware of the fact," Holmes said with contrived indolence.

"I never did understand why you both decided to end the false engagement," Watson commented curiously.

"It had run its course, Watson. It was never meant to be a permanent thing. It couldn't drag on forever. It was already suspicious that we hadn't actually married as yet," Holmes explained impassively, puffing on his pipe.

"I suppose," Watson agreed a bit dubiously, "Do you think Miss Mounteney would really end up a Countess?" he asked a bit incredulously.

"Well, she could," Holmes said lethargically with an elegant shrug.

"I found out that she's been invited to his estate for the weekend and Vladimir as well, as chaperone," Watson said.

Holmes could feel his heart pick up speed. It was the first he'd heard of it.

"Really Watson? When did you hear this?" Holmes drawled, deliberately casual.

"Just this morning. Mrs Laidley told me. Sarah had just visited on her way to the theatre," Watson said.

Holmes wanted to ask for more detail but didn't want to appear too interested.

"Ah well, I'm sure she will enjoy herself," Holmes said coolly.

"Mrs Laidley said that she hadn't made up her mind to go. Sarah thinks it would send the wrong signals," Watson said thoughtfully.

 _It certainly would_ , Holmes thought viciously.

"Imagine if she did marry the Count, though. What a catch!" Watson said admiringly.

This grated on Holmes' nerves.

"It undoubtedly would be," he agreed dryly.

"Mind you, Sarah did tell Mrs Laidley that although the Count was very handsome and quite a sensitive and thoughtful person, he was a bit dim," Watson chuckled, not having noticed his friend's unnatural stillness.

Holmes' lean mouth twitched. It sounded so much like Sarah that if he hadn't been so agitated; he would have laughed out loud.

"Does that matter?" Holmes asked wryly.

"According to Mrs Laidley, it does to Sarah. Sarah told her that money, title and good looks were all very well, but intelligence was the most attractive thing of all," Watson replied, shaking his head in wonder.

Holmes was so astounded that he forgot to make an appropriate remark. Since when did any woman care about a man's brains? If he had money, that was enough. Title was even better. Good looks were a bonus, but hardly necessary. As for brains, what woman cared about those? His particular talents were appreciated by Watson, the Society, his clients and occasionally, the police force. Apart from that, they had often been more of a liability than an asset in his life. Certainly no woman had ever been the slightest bit interested in how smart he was. They did not understand or value his intelligence, let alone admire it.

"I dare say that the sheer weight of money and title may overcome her other objections," Holmes said somewhat cynically.

"Sarah is an odd woman," Watson mused aloud, "She's not like women of our time. She values different things. She may surprise you."

Holmes reflected that Sarah was a constant source of surprise, but he held out little hope that the Count of Winchester would not win the day.

To Holmes's relief, Watson left soon after to have dinner with Mary. Holmes simply wanted to be alone. Any mention of the Count of Winchester had become unbearable.

A month later, Sarah was staring into the fire at her Oxford home and contemplating her future. She had turned down the Count of Winchester's invitation to visit his estate. To go would have been to commit herself in some way and she could not do that in good faith.

Just yesterday, the Count of Winchester had written to her proposing marriage outright. It was tempting. Holmes was, for all intents and purposes, out of her life permanently.

She knew she only had another seven years of her performing career left at the most. She was already almost rich enough to retire to a small cottage in the country with a few acres should she choose to, but performing challenged her and allowed her to see the world and meet interesting people. She could keep earning after she retired from performing. She knew she could charge the large, institutional ballet schools in Paris, Russia and Denmark whatever fees she chose as a guest teacher. They all wanted the secrets of her technique. She planned to travel for a few months of the year as a guest teacher and live in the country the rest of the time. Her teaching would allow her to stay in touch with her theatre friends all over the Continent.

As far as Sarah knew, Holmes knew nothing about the proposal and it wouldn't matter if he did, she supposed. She took the letter from a deep pocket in her dress. She had been puzzling over how to reply. It was no use. She could not love the Count and she was better off remaining single all her days than married to someone she didn't love. Sarah knew what she wanted and if she couldn't have it then she would be alone. The letter was written on distinctive pale blue paper and Sarah threw it on the fire and watched a possible future burn to ashes.

Within half an hour, an irregular knocked at the door at Baker Street and handed a note to Mrs Hudson for Holmes. Holmes read it with a frown and a surreal feeling of disbelief. Sarah had burned the Count's proposal! He slowly sank onto the edge of his bed and contemplated the implications of what he had just read. If Sarah decided to turn down a proposal from the Count of Winchester, it would then be obvious she had no intention of marrying for position or wealth now or anytime in the future. Unless a prince proposed to her, she could not get a better proposal than the one she had just destroyed. Holmes knew Sarah well enough to know that she would not set her sights on a prince. She did not have the blind ambition and misjudgment of a young Irene Adler.

He did not know what to do. He was not supposed to know about the proposal or that she had burned it. He could not go round there now and declare himself. He could only wait and see what Sarah did next.

Sarah had written a letter to the Count of Winchester refusing his proposal in the most reasonable and kind terms she could muster. She explained, as she had done so once before to the young Waverley, that a ballet girl was not a suitable match for him. She believed he should marry a young woman of good family who was brought up to understand the expectations that would surround a Countess and who had been educated in the manners and duties of his class. Sarah did not want to be put in a position where she let the Count down and embarrassed his family. She made sure she put in lots of flattery about how personally attractive and kind he was, but the situation was impossible and so forth. She had a feeling that the Count would not accept it. Although Waverley had been a sensitive young man, he was also sensible. The Count was sensitive too, but she had doubts about his common sense.

Naturally, Holmes saw a copy of the letter and found it typical of Sarah's insightful and careful handling of other people. It was obvious to him that she had no desire to hurt the Count and also no desire to cause offense to a powerful patron of the arts. It was also obvious that she had no intention of marrying the Count now or in the future.

Did that mean she would consent to marry him, however? One did not necessarily follow the other. Perhaps Sarah merely wished to be free, Holmes pondered. He felt frozen into inaction. She had been hurt and angry when he had pushed her away that night in Vienna, but what was it she had wanted or expected from him? He had no idea because he had been too much of a coward to find out both then and since; hiding behind falsely noble notions of giving Sarah the best chance of a stable, secure future.

While Holmes' mind circled around these thoughts, a very expensive carriage was making its way to Baker Street.

Mrs Hudson knocked on Holmes' door and presented him with a card. Holmes read it in disbelief.

"Show him in," he said in clipped tones and went and stood by the fire, his back to the door.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" a softly spoken and aristocratic voice said from the doorway.

"Come in, Count Winchester. Please have a seat," Holmes said, waving one thin hand at a chair by the fire, but still not looking at his guest.

The Count walked slowly over to the seat indicated and sat down. As he did so, he pulled a small white letter from inside his coat.

"You know what this is, I suppose? I was in London, as it happens, so I received it straight away," the Count said softly, looking into the fire rather than at Holmes. His shoulders drooped slightly.

Holmes glanced at the letter and instantly recognised Sarah's writing.

"It looks like Miss Mounteney's writing," Holmes observed, carefully saying nothing further.

"Of course, you would know it. You were engaged for a long time and she is, after all, in love with you," the Count said, a spasm of pain crossing his handsome features momentarily, "She never spoke of it, of course. She is too honourable a person to discuss personal matters, but I could tell that she loved you from the expression on her face when I briefly mentioned your engagement at our first meeting."

Holmes realised he was holding his breath. To hear someone say that Sarah was in love with him completely took his breath away. She had let him kiss her, but what did that mean? He had no idea. She had saved his life, but that only meant she was brave. The Count was convinced she loved him and warmth spread over his body like the sun coming out after an impossibly long winter.

"This letter contains a very polite and sensitive refusal of my marriage proposal," the Count said sadly with a hint of bitterness. He put it away in his coat pocket again. "Why should she refuse such a secure future for the sake of a man too stupid to want her?" he added angrily, his pale eyes flashing angrily at the tall figure lounging in front of the mantel before him.

Holmes opened his mouth to say that he most certainly did want Sarah, but closed it again. What he wanted was none of the Count's business.

"Still, there is nothing to be done," the Count said with a shrug of one beautifully tailored shoulder.

"I'm not sure what you want me to do or say," Holmes drawled coolly, "This is between you and Miss Mounteney. It cannot concern me."

"It does concern you because it is you that she is still in love with. Goodness knows why, you can't offer her what I or her other admirers can. If you do not want her, then you must make it clear to her so she no longer holds on to any fruitless hopes. That would be the manly thing to do," the Count remonstrated, "As for myself, I will keep proposing until she either marries me or another," he added quietly, looking down.

Holmes looked at the ridiculously handsome young Count, who had the world before him and endless resources at his disposal. The firelight burnished his hair until it shone gold. His regular, fine features and clear blue eyes made him the model for a young David or some Greek god of myth. Sarah was mad to turn him down, Holmes reflected. There had to be a very good reason. Maybe, just maybe, the Count was right. Maybe Sarah had kissed him because she did love him. Maybe she had risked her life for the same reason. The thought made him slightly light-headed. _To hell with the Count and what he wanted_ , Holmes thought. _It was time, as the Count said, to be manly and to act._


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

 _Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned._

 _Song of Solomon 8:7_

At the same time this strange interview was taking place, a behemoth made its way to Sarah's apartment on Oxford Street.

"Miss Mounteney, Mr Holmes to see you," Sarah's landlady announced. It was a Monday night, one of the evenings that Sarah did not dance while in London.

The landlady disappeared and Sarah, who was taking care of correspondence, did not turn around immediately.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me, Mr Holmes," Sarah said, "Please take a seat."

"My brother probably isn't speaking to you, Miss Mounteney. However, I thought I would avail myself the pleasure, in his absence," Mycroft said smoothly, coming silently into the room and settling his bulk in an armchair in front of the fire.

Sarah turned from her desk and examined her visitor with eager eyes.

"Mr Mycroft Holmes! I wondered when I might meet you," Sarah said, her eyes gleaming with pleasure as she got up to join him before the fire.

"I see Sherlock has mentioned me," Mycroft said, observing the small figure before him with keen, pale eyes.

"No, he hasn't. I know you by reputation," Sarah replied and rang for tea.

Mycroft wheezed a bit and Sarah realised he was laughing.

"No, I imagine Sherlock hasn't mentioned me. It isn't his style," he said and continued his minute examination of the woman in front of him.

"How can I assist you, Mr Holmes?" Sarah asked, as the tea arrived.

Mycroft waited until the housemaid had left.

"I simply wanted to see the woman that my brother has been in love with all these years, that's all," Mycroft said coolly, taking his tea from Sarah, "I can see why he has completely lost his head. He was always terribly susceptible to beauty and I can see that there can possibly be no greater beauty on the Continent than yourself. Sherlock always had to have the best."

Mycroft wasn't paying a flowery compliment. He stated this as dryly and ironically as he would have recited the day's stock prices. Sarah regarded Mycroft impassively.

"I've come to know your brother quite well over the years, Mr Holmes and I can assure you that the one thing he would never do is lose his head. Also, I think you will find that your brother has a greater taste for the blonde beauty of Irene Norton rather than my own style. Finally, I find it very interesting that so many people are of the opinion that your brother is in love with me when it is perfectly obvious to me that he is oblivious to such a notion," Sarah said pointedly, sipping her tea.

Mycroft wheezed again in amusement. He was beginning to see why his brother found Sarah's company so stimulating.

"I've known Sherlock all his life and I can promise you that's he _has_ completely lost his head – admittedly for the first time. As for Irene Norton, he may admire her beauty but she was unable to make him lose his head the way your charming self has. As for what Sherlock knows, he has no concept of what goes on inside that deeply buried heart of his. He was a very sensitive lad. The only way he knew how to cope with his finely-tuned emotions was to bury them all at a young age. He'd simply forgotten he had any, that's all. Then you came along and he can't ignore them anymore, so he's at sixes and sevens," Mycroft said frankly.

"In that case, he must be very, very good at ignoring whatever supposed feelings he has for me. As far as he's concerned, I no longer exist. I haven't seen or heard from him in months," Sarah said flatly.

"Don't be obtuse, Miss Mounteney!" Mycroft said, suddenly serious, "You know he stays away because his feelings confuse him!"

"I know no such thing!" Sarah said sharply, "If your brother had any feelings to declare, he has had plenty of opportunity to do so!"

Mycroft felt deeply frustrated. Why couldn't this young woman see? Sherlock believed she was unusually intelligent, so what was blinding her?

"He doesn't know how! The silly fool has never been in love before. Why can't you see how he loves you? You know how obsessively he watches over you. He's done so since the first day he met you. Doesn't that tell you anything? Do you think he does that for all his female clients out of chivalry? Of course not. He would be quite happy for all of them to go to the devil once the case is solved," Mycroft growled, sinking back into his chair with a scowl.

"Well, I don't know what you expect me to do about your over-sensitive brother who never shows any emotion at all and who is terribly in love with me, but who I haven't seen for months on end!" Sarah said sarcastically.

Mycroft's thin mouth pursed and he was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was low.

"If he comes to you, just be kind to him – kinder than he probably deserves," Mycroft asked, "What looks like arrogance is just his way of protecting a very thin skin."

"I think he has skin like a rhinoceros," Sarah muttered rudely.

Mycroft examined the soft curves of her profile which even with a rather petulant expression were still very beautiful.

"Do you love Sherlock?" he asked bluntly, but his tone was gentle.

Sarah glanced at him and then looked away again.

"I don't know. I did, but now I'm not sure anymore," she admitted.

Mycroft examined the half angry, half sad expression on her face and was suddenly sure that Sarah loved his brother very much indeed. Mycroft suddenly felt usual warmth toward the young woman.

Sarah looked at Mycroft again. He had been silent for a few moments.

"Why are you here, anyway? I know your brother well enough to know he would be furious if he knew about this conversation," she asked.

Mycroft pursed his lips again and looked into the fire.

"Sherlock gave up cocaine a few years ago and I know he did it because of you. I'm just afraid that if things go permanently wrong between you, he'll take it up again," Mycroft muttered, his huge shoulders drooping slightly, "It could kill him and it would certainly ruin that fine mind of his."

Sarah was surprised to hear that Holmes had given up cocaine supposedly because of her. She had never asked him to. Holmes had a stubborn streak. She knew if she had ever tackled him directly on the subject, he would have kept taking it just to prove he could. She had been aware that he had stopped, simply because he had looked healthier for the last few years. The quality of his skin and his colour had improved. She had been very glad, but certainly had not taken credit for it.

"You worry about him," Sarah said gently, fascinated by the evidence of the bond between them considering that Holmes never mentioned Mycroft even in passing.

"Of course I do! He's been self-destructive since university. Then you came along and things got better - he had a reason to take care of himself. Of course, now with the two of you not talking…" Mycroft added with a shrug.

"I'm not sure what I can do," Sarah said honestly with a sigh, "To be honest Mycroft, he hasn't behaved very well and it simply wouldn't be appropriate for me to be the one to offer an olive branch, particularly when it is so obvious he is avoiding me."

"No, I don't expect you to try and contact him," Mycroft conceded, "but you will at least listen to him when he does come to see you again? He won't be able to stay away indefinitely; it will make him too unhappy."

"I don't think I could stop him talking if I tried," Sarah said with irony.

Mycroft's mouth twitched and they both laughed together.

Later that night, Sarah was back at her desk finishing her final letter when she heard a rap at the window pane. Mycroft had left hours before and was unlikely to come in through the window, so it could only be one person.

"I suppose it would be impossible to visit at a normal hour and to use the front door," Sarah said as she unlocked the window and let Holmes in.

"Apologies, Miss Mounteney. I was on my way back from a minor investigation and I wanted to speak to you," Holmes said, perfectly at his ease as he climbed into the room, his long legs making it a simple exercise.

Sarah had gone back to her desk to fold the letter and seal it shut. She had expected Holmes to sit down in front of the fire (probably cross legged) and light his pipe, so she was surprised when he followed her. When she turned around to ask him the reason for his visit, she read the intent on his face before he even pulled her against him. Sarah was so surprised that she didn't react at first when he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Two strong instincts fought for dominance inside Sarah. One wanted to lean against him, wrap her arms around his neck and live in the moment. The other was her self-preservation. She had no intention of being put through the emotional wringer she had been through in the past months. With tears in her eyes, she pulled away from his kiss and slapped him hard across his face; so hard that she could see the marks of her fingers on his hollow cheek.

Holmes staggered back in shock. He knew he deserved it, but the slap was a hard one from a small woman. He couldn't speak for several moments and the murderous look in Sarah's eyes wasn't helping.

"I know I deserved that," he said quietly, his hand going to his still stinging face.

"What game are you playing this time, Mr Holmes?" Sarah asked rigidly, "I haven't seen you for months. What are you doing here now?"

"I was never playing any game, Sarah. You know I love you. I just thought I could be unselfish and let you have the glittering future you deserve. But, as it turns out, I'm not unselfish and I don't give a damn what all the peers in the realm can offer you, I want you myself and that's that. I want us to get married as soon as possible," Holmes said, his thin hands clenched at his sides.

Sarah stared at him, her lips parted in astonishment. She wanted to say something, but was afraid she would start crying and the thought horrified her.

"I've been lying to myself all this time," he said, suddenly turning away from her and pacing in front of the fire, frowning at the floor, "I was lying when I told myself that your story about coming from the future was impossible. I knew when I first heard the music on the iPod that you were telling the truth, but being suspicious of you allowed me to keep you at a distance. I was lying when I told myself I was trying to find out where you were from and what game you were playing. I really just wanted an excuse to find out more about you and keep an eye on you. I was frightened you would get hurt, being on your own as you were. Finally, I was lying about wanting you to have the best future possible. It was just one final attempt to try and keep my world under control after you turned it on its head," he said, coming back over to her, looking down at her intently.

Sarah was holding her breath. It explained just about everything regarding his behaviour, but he had a habit of being inconsistent.

"Now, you can slap me again if you like, it would be worth it," Holmes said bluntly and pulled her hard against him as he kissed her again.

If he hadn't just proposed, it would be a kiss worthy of a slap, Sarah thought dimly.

It occurred to her much later that night that Holmes had not been the strict celibate Watson had believed. It was obvious that neither of them was terribly practiced, but nor was either of them completely inexperienced either. For her, it had been a very long time and she suspected it was the same for him.

In the early hours of the morning, Holmes looked at Sarah's face. She was awake. He had one long arm and leg draped possessively over her small form.

"You never actually said yes," he observed, a trifle petulantly.

"Yes," Sarah said dutifully then glanced at him with a smile, "You like your formalities, don't you?" she teased gently.

"Just as well, considering where we are," he said ironically.

"I don't understand why now after all this time. Vienna was a long time ago," Sarah said, lazily running her fingers through his dark hair.

"I knew a proposal like the one from the Count of Winchester was coming. It was only a matter of time. I told myself I was doing the right thing. It was only just in the last few days that I realised I was just being a coward and running away from something I knew I couldn't control," Holmes explained.

"I knew I was attracted to you from the first time I met you," Sarah said with a frankness that took his breath away, "but you did work very hard at making me dislike you. It never really quite worked, though. It just upset me at the time," she confessed.

"I never could really believe that you would ever so much as look in my direction, not with the army of wealthy admirers that you had," Holmes admitted, his face half buried in her neck.

"I never looked at anybody else!" Sarah protested.

Holmes knew it was true. She had never given anyone any encouragement. In all the years he had known her, he was the only man she had kissed and the only man she had looked at with that oddly concerned and curious gaze. He hadn't just been as blind as a bat, he had been deliberately, stubbornly and determinedly blind. To have his love returned was too confronting and overwhelming. He had been terrified. He had had no idea what to do. He had retreated inside himself, closed up like a clam. It was unbelievable to him that she had waited.

"I want us to get married as soon as possible," he muttered into her soft skin.

"Whenever you like," she said.

The next day, with one look at Sarah and Holmes, Watson knew what had happened. _About time too,_ he thought with a chuckle to himself. Holmes had one arm protectively around Sarah's shoulders as he led her into the Watson's home to tell them around the engagement.

Sarah and Holmes had already discussed some arrangements. He would keep his rooms on Baker Street for consulting and Sarah would keep her rooms on Oxford Street. Perhaps the time would come one day when they both retired that they could move to a rural property together. He had already been richly rewarded by the royalty and other blue bloods he had helped during his career to date and could make Sarah and himself very comfortable without needing her finances. In the meantime, when they were both in town and not engaged by work, they could spend at least their evenings together at Sarah's rooms without the annoyance and interruption of clients who came to 221B Baker Street.

 _A/N: Another couple of chapters to go, just to wrap things up. I will try and post them by New Year. Thank you to the readers who have been kind enough to take the time to review, it has kept me motivated to keep posting the chapters._


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

 _I have healed these waters; there shall not be from thence any more death or barren land._

 _2 Kings 2:21_

It was a very quiet ceremony as they had only told the Watsons, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson and Mrs Laidley. If they had told anyone else, there would have been a cast of thousands which both Holmes and Sarah would have hated. In Victorian times, only the upper classes had big fancy weddings. Sarah didn't even need to buy a new dress.

It wasn't long before Holmes was embroiled in the case of the Red-Headed League. It was always interesting to Sarah to occasionally see the case play out from the sidelines when she already had read the answer centuaries into the future. She had to be careful not to let slip any hints. It did annoy Holmes when she could tell him the key to the case before he had told her himself, so she always let him explain it all first.

Rehearsals for the next season were almost finished. Vladimir had decided to have a season of Petipa and produce a full version of Swan Lake and La Bayadere. Sarah was quite excited, but it didn't leave her much spare time. Rehearsals ran most of the day and into some of the evenings.

Occasionally, if Sarah managed to get home at a reasonable time, she would find Holmes sitting cross-legged on an arm-chair smoking like a chimney in front of the fire looking perfectly at home. Other times she would wake up in the morning and the smell of tobacco would lead her to the same sitting room where she would find Holmes in silent contemplation of infinity. She never knew when he would be there. Sometimes he would come by three days in a row. Other times Sarah may not see him for an entire week. He always knew what she had been doing though.

The next eighteen months passed in this way. Sarah had put her foot down with Vladimir and told him she wasn't doing any long tours on the Continent for the time being. Holmes would not have dreamt of stopping Sarah if she had wanted to go, but she knew he wasn't happy about her being away for so long and she didn't want to go for such long periods without seeing him either. Sarah would do guest appearances for enormous sums with other companies on the Continent for a week instead. Vladimir pocketed a substantial sum each time, so he did not mind.

Holmes found it much easier to focus on his work these days. There wasn't the constant niggling worry about Sarah. Now that it was known that she was officially married, her admirers kept their distance. She was also traveling less, so he was able to check on her quite regularly.

At the end of a twelve month season in London, it was with high hopes that Sarah made plans to holiday in Kettleness in North Yorkshire in the company's annual month long break. Sarah had always been curious about the place after reading Bram Stoker's novel way back in her Brisbane life – just morbid curiousity, she figured. It was not fashionable, so she was guaranteed some peace and quiet.

Kettleness lived up to her hopes. It was quiet; almost still and had a brooding quality that she quite liked. The sky and sea were grey more often than not and Sarah could have all the solitude she wanted. After a busy London season, she wanted a lot of it.

Sarah expected to see Holmes during the month. He had just been called away on a case to Switzerland, so she expected it to be a good fortnight before she did.

About a week after Sarah arrived, she received a telegram from Watson. It was about Holmes' death. It gave her a nasty shock for a moment and her legs were just about to give way under her when she remembered that Watson had indeed believed Holmes dead for 3 or 4 years. Sarah knew with the benefit of twenty-first centuary knowledge that Holmes had killed Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls and survived pursuit by one of Moriarty's men. Watson would not learn this fact for years. He truly believed his friend dead. Sarah felt very sad for Watson but suddenly quite comfortable in her knowledge that Holmes was alive, if not perhaps well, and would return to his old life and friends in time. Sarah expected, with a heavy heart, that she would not see Holmes for a long, long time.

That night, there was a strident rapping at Sarah's door.

"Mrs Holmes, its Mrs Norton," she heard a familiar voice call. It still gave Sarah a start when she was called Mrs Holmes. She used her maiden name professionally still.

Sarah cautiously opened the door with her small revolver in her hand which she always kept handy when she was alone.

Irene stepped into the cottage. Sarah would not have recognised her. Her glorious hair was covered in a scarf and she was wearing very simple clothes. Sarah realised she was trying to blend in to her surroundings.

"Mrs Holmes, I'm here on behalf of the Society. Mr Norton asked me to come and tell you that Mr Holmes is still alive and well," she said quickly, looking at Sarah with great concern.

Sarah didn't have to pretend to be relieved. Although she knew Holmes probably still was alive, it was good to get confirmation.

"You are very kind. Imagine coming all the way out here with the message," Sarah said, immediately putting the kettle on.

"Of course I would," she said dismissively. "You're holding up very well," Irene said, observing Sarah compassionately.

"I had a feeling that Mr Holmes was too clever to get himself killed. Why doesn't Dr Watson know?" Sarah asked.

"He's not a member of the Society and only Society members know. They will be protecting him now," Irene explained, taking the coffee Sarah offered.

"Good, then I know he'll be fine," Sarah said confidently, "Do they know where he is?" she asked.

Irene frowned. "Not yet, although they expect him to make contact soon. He had to get away from the Reichenbach Falls quickly and no-one is sure which way he went. As soon as we hear anything, the Society will let you know," she promised.

She gave Sarah back the coffee cup.

"I must go. Mr Norton is waiting for me at the local hotel. We'll be in touch, Mrs Holmes," Irene said and was gone as swiftly as she arrived.

Sarah thought she would not see Holmes for a long time. In this, she could not have been more wrong. He showed up on her doorstep only two nights later, in a terrible state.

Sarah had been sipping tea in front of the fire before getting ready for bed when there was a timid knocking at the door, like someone who wanted to be heard by those inside and not by anyone else. Sarah found it unnerving to be alone in cottage on a desolate piece of coast and hear knocking late at night. She picked up her small revolver and cautiously opened the door. Holmes nearly fell in. Not that she knew it was him at first, his head and face were mostly covered by a scarf.

"Don't shoot, Sarah!" he said feebly, "It's me, Sherlock."

Sarah recognised his voice, put the gun down immediately and wrapped her arms around him. "Sit down in front of the fire, Sherlock," Sarah said sternly, "You are in a dreadful state."

He did as he was bid and she poured hot, sweet tea for him. "I don't have any brandy, I'm sorry," she said as she handed him the tea.

He took the tea with a fleeting twitch of the lips, probably meant as a smile of thanks that he was too exhausted to complete.

"When did you last eat?" Sarah asked in a no-nonsense tone.

He waved a thin hand weakly to indicate that he did not remember and sipped his tea.

"I think you'd better start on nothing more difficult to digest than broth," Sarah said, going through to the small kitchen. She had some chicken soup that she'd made that morning (not trusting local cooks in the least in terms of hygiene) and put it over the fire to warm.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," Holmes said, putting down his empty cup which she promptly refilled. He was starting to look slightly less ghastly.

"Sherlock, I once told you that I wouldn't be surprised to see you in the middle of the Kalahari Desert. Neither am I surprised to see you alive after being told you are dead," Sarah said briskly.

Holmes started to laugh but it turned into a dreadful cough. Sarah frowned at him. He was certainly not well.

"Besides, I had read about your supposed death at Reichenbach Falls and your actual survival a long time ago," Sarah added, going to fetch him some soup in a large cup.

"Of course," Holmes said with some resignation, "I suppose there won't be too many surprises for you."

"I can promise you I get surprised every time I spend five minutes with you, Sherlock," Sarah said dryly.

"Can't I have a bowl and spoon?" he asked querulously, looking with disfavour at the cup.

"No, you're weak and sipping from a cup is easier," Sarah said bossily.

"Is that black band for me?" he asked after awhile, indicated the band on her arm.

"Yes," Sarah said, "I had better keep wearing it as I'm sure you don't want anyone to know you're alive."

Holmes looked at Sarah keenly, "What makes you say that?" he asked, nursing his soup.

"Because if you did, you'd be in London now and not in Kettleness," Sarah replied frankly.

Holmes managed a smile this time, "Very clever of you," he commented, "I've often thought you'd be of great use as a spy, Sarah," Holmes said thoughtfully, "You think like one."

"I've been here for twenty-four hours already but I had to be sure that no-one in these parts recognised you," he added, "I couldn't risk someone recognising me as your husband as well."

"Does the Society know you're here?" Sarah asked.

"Not yet, I need to contact them. I'll need your help with that, Sarah," he replied.

Sarah merely nodded.

"The Nortons have been here," she said.

Holmes looked surprised.

"When?" he asked.

"Two nights ago. Mrs Norton came to tell me you were still alive. I'd just had a telegram from Dr Watson about your untimely demise," Sarah said frankly.

"I owe Norton a favour although it wasn't really necessary as you already knew," Holmes said soberly, "At least you didn't get a fright. That's one good thing."

"You're too clever to get yourself killed," Sarah said with a smile, "There is always a game afoot, isn't there?"

Holmes smiled grimly, but said nothing. As he had finished his soup, Sarah gave him more tea.

"What are your plans?" Sarah asked curiously, although she had some vague ideas that he went off for three or four years traveling and doing research.

"I'm not sure yet, I need to speak to the Society," Holmes said, "I'll be relying on them for information for the time being."

"Well, you need to get your health back first," Sarah said firmly.

"I need you to help me with some correspondence with my brother, Mycroft as well as the Society," Holmes said earnestly.

Sarah nodded assent, but wouldn't discuss it when he was so weak.

Holmes and Sarah fell into a routine. She would feed him two soft boiled eggs and toast with tea for breakfast (and the eggs _had_ to be _soft_ boiled, he was very particular). Then he would go outside and sit near the cottage wall wrapped up warm and staring out to sea and smoke like a chimney while she did her three hours of practice from 9am to noon. As he became more well, he would go for longer and longer walks during this time. They would then have lunch. After that, Sarah would often venture out for a long walk and he would either doze by the fire or work on various pieces of correspondence to Mycroft or the Society which Sarah would be obliged to send under a false name. They would dine fairly lightly as Sarah didn't like big meals at night and then they would retire. Holmes insisted on sharing Sarah's bed each night from the time he arrived although he was obviously weak and sick. She knew that she should have been stern and sensible, but she had missed him too much. He knew perfectly well all he had to do was kiss Sarah and the argument was over.

Although it was the first time they had actually lived together instead of Holmes just visiting Oxford Street, it was surprisingly easy for the two of them to rub along in this way. They didn't interrupt each other or annoy each other particularly and as neither of them was in a particularly social mood, they were able to get along quite peacefully.

About two weeks after Holmes arrived, Mr and Mrs Norton visited the cottage again.

"Come for a walk with me, Mrs Holmes. I have an idea you may be interested in," she said persuasively.

Sarah glanced at Holmes who was watching her closely.

"I need to speak to you as well, Holmes. It's about a Society matter," Mr Norton said.

Mrs Norton dragged Sarah out the door and onto the seaside path where there were benches with views over the brooding sea.

"The Society has had an idea for how to protect Mr Holmes until the Society can take care of his enemies, but we need your help," Mrs Norton said, her turquoise eyes sparkling.

"Of course," Sarah replied.

"How would you like to undertake a joint billed tour of the United States with me? It would take at least two years to travel through the major cities plus another 2 months to get there and back. Mr Holmes could travel with us and undertake some commissions for the Society; they want to establish a branch there. It would keep him out of harm's way. Mr Norton could manage the tour for us both. And Mrs Holmes, we would both make a fortune!" she added excitedly.

Sarah found it hard not to get caught up in her enthusiasm. She did see the benefits both for Holmes' protection and for her career.

"What about Vladimir?" Sarah asked, not wanting to betray the man who had given Sarah her start.

"I think the dollars will persuade him to take the company across the Atlantic, don't you? There is no point him staying in London without you, he won't make any money," Irene said with an airy wave of one hand.

"I need to speak to Mr Holmes, of course," Sarah said to the entrancing woman before her.

"Yes, of course. Mr Norton is discussing aspects of it with him now," Irene said comfortably and then looked out over the view.

"Why did you want to come here for a holiday?" Irene asked with a small frown.

"I was looking for a large, phantom hound," Sarah said, obliquely referring to Dracula's landing at Kettleness.

Mrs Norton looked at Sarah oddly and then realised she was joking and laughed charmingly.

Sarah reflected that her holiday had produced more drama than any novel she had ever read to date, including Dracula.

By the time Irene and Sarah went back to the cottage, the men were smoking like chimneys and appeared to have reached some kind of mutual understanding.

Sarah put the kettle on and made tea. She knew Holmes was watching her every move, trying to see what she was thinking.

Sarah sat down and then realised that everyone was staring at her.

"Why are you all looking at me?" Sarah asked.

"Because it will be your decision, Mrs Holmes. You and Mrs Norton will have to be willing to put yourself through a grueling tour. I know Mrs Norton is very keen, so it really comes down to you," Mr Norton said.

"The tour can be as grueling or not as we choose. We don't have to dance or sing every night of the week and we can plan breaks," Sarah said. She glanced at Holmes. He had his poker face on and there was no way to tell what he was thinking. Knowing Holmes, Sarah suspected he would love to try his powers in a new milieu. There would be plenty of millionaires with conundrums to solve. He was afraid the tour would be too hard on her, so he wasn't going to state his preference. "I think we should go. I would like to see the United States. It's only for a few years," Sarah said with a deep breath.

Irene cheered and hugged Sarah, and Mr Norton grinned broadly and shook hands genially with Holmes. Sarah looked over Irene's shoulder at Holmes and saw that the tension in his body had relaxed. She had been right, he had wanted to go.


	35. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

They agreed that Sarah should finish her holiday and then go back to London and discuss the idea with Vladimir.

"If you change your plans, it may make Holmes' enemies suspicious," Mr Norton explained, "We will need to sneak him onto the same ship under a false identity and in disguise. Once we are well out of English waters, it won't matter so much."

Vladimir was intrigued by the idea that Sarah, Irene and Mr Norton presented to him. The projected earnings from the tour particularly interested him. He had not locked in dates for the tour on the Continent at that point, so it was easy for him to change his plans.

Most of the dancers were keen to go on the promise of higher wages. Those that weren't were close to retirement anyway and Vladimir simply held auditions to replace them. Young dancers were keen to tour America and Vladimir could take his pick from the season's new crop.

In the meantime, rehearsals were being held for the first season in America and passage was being negotiated with a shipping firm for the dancers, their scenery and props, wardrobe, entourage and room on board for daily rehearsals.

Sarah did not see much of Holmes during this time as he was sure Sarah was being closely watched by his enemies. He did not want to lead his enemies to her. She put on a convincing act of being in mourning, wearing black whenever she was not performing and reverting to using her maiden name.

Within three months, they sailed for America. Holmes booked a first class cabin under an assumed name and wore one of his old man disguises. Sarah did not see him board and had no idea what name or disguise he was using. This was deliberate, so she could not betray his presence by an unconscious word or glance. She would not see him at all for the first week aboard.

During this first week, Holmes mingled with the other passengers not connected with the ballet company. He used this time to discern exactly who was on board, making a careful study of passengers and crew alike, including penetrating the holds and engine room. Only once he was satisfied his enemies or their spies were not aboard would be reveal himself. There would be no chance of putting Sarah in the way of his enemies again.

Sarah knew she would not see Holmes for at least a week, but she was never quite sure when she would see him after that.

It was during this week that Sarah and Irene Norton had a very interesting conversation.

"You know Sarah, there are a great many things I have never understood regarding you and Sherlock," Irene said as they sat on Irene's private balcony on a rare night off from rehearsal. They had dispensed with formalities some time ago in private.

"Yes, there are a great many things I don't understand regarding myself and Sherlock either," Sarah replied with a dry smile, her tone a touch sardonic.

Irene laughed heartily then sobered as she regarded her equally celebrated friend.

"Like myself, you had so many opportunities to marry extremely well. I know women who would have given anything to have a proposal from the Count of Winchester," Irene continued.

"I can understand that. Let's face it, he's extremely good looking," Sarah replied frankly.

"More to the point, he is rich, titled and powerful," Irene said pointedly, "all the things that Sherlock was not when you first got engaged to him."

"Well, you already know that story. It wasn't a real engagement," Sarah said with a shrug.

"Hmmmm," Irene said dubiously, "I'm sure Sherlock was glad to take you off the market, at any rate. When I first met Sherlock, it wasn't under very auspicious circumstances, as you know. I thought he was an extraordinarily clever man, very original and somewhat driven. There was something intriguing about him and his methods. However, I also thought he was arrogant, rather eccentric, not particularly handsome and definitely not a good catch. Also, he appeared to have ice in his veins rather than blood. I could never be attracted to a man with a cold nature. I need fire and passion to match my own," Irene said with a shrug.

Sarah reflected that Irene's need for fire and passion had led her on the same disastrous adventure that had eventually introduced Sherlock into her life under those inauspicious circumstances. It was true that in day to day life, Sherlock did have a cold persona, but he also had a deeply sensual nature which he kept well-hidden from the world. He would not have had such an addictive personality without that vein of sensuality in his nature, Sarah mused.

"Yes, there were times he was cold to the point of rudeness when we first met," Sarah confessed, "but I always found myself watching him and wondering why he was the way he was. You know his failings, Irene. He is an addict, he has a tendency to starve himself under stress, he avoids relationships, he works himself into exhaustion – there is a pattern of self-destruction there. Why is a person with such a brilliant, original mind so self-destructive?" Sarah said, her vision turned inward as she spoke, recalling her impressions over the years.

Irene examined Sarah as she mulled over these revelations.

"Did you ever find the answers to these questions?" Irene asked curiously.

"Not really," Sarah replied. "I suspect he had a troubled family life and his relationship with his parents was somehow damaging, but that is pure speculation. He never talks about his family. Perhaps that in itself is proof enough," Sarah said with a shrug.

"That is very perceptive of you," Irene replied, her turquoise eyes narrowed as she considered Sarah's conclusions. "You must have cared about Sherlock almost from the beginning to have observed so much."

"I was fascinated by him the first time we met and unlike you, I thought he was really quite attractive in an unconventional way. Of course, his reputation preceded him. I had heard of his work and his eccentricities. After we met, he was determined to prove I was a fraud of some kind. He was terribly suspicious of me, so I ended up meeting with him and Watson a fair bit while he undertook his investigations. While he was observing me, I was busy observing him," Sarah said with a mischievous smile.

Irene laughed again.

"It is Sherlock who is the fraud! He used the excuse of uncovering your deception to stay in touch with you," she said with glee.

Sarah looked dubious.

"I think he had real doubts about my origins," Sarah said, "and it took a long time for him to let go of them. In the meantime, he had set up this elaborate ring of protection with the irregulars and the Society. That was even before the pretend engagement. I think he had real fears that I would be abducted or assaulted or something," Sarah said with a sigh. There were times she really had no idea at all what Sherlock was thinking.

"You know, my dear, I wish I had someone like Sherlock in my life to protect me when I was a young rising star. There were plenty of times I got into difficult situations because of presumptuous and aggressive men. I could have been compromised many times if it wasn't for my own quick-wittedness," Irene said gently.

"It was very difficult to interpret his actions. He could be very cold and suspicious one day and quite good company the next time I saw him. Then on the next occasion he would interrogate me like a criminal suspect and then I would not lay eyes on him for months on end. Then he would dance with me all night in Vienna! Then, after not seeing him for weeks, he would lecture me like a child. Or he would show up on my doorstep after a major row and ask for help with one of his cases," Sarah said indignantly, shaking her head.

"And you would help him," Irene said with amusement.

"Yes," Sarah said with another sigh, "I should have slammed the door in his face," she added irritably.

Irene laughed and clapped her hands.

"Well, it was never dull, was it? Perhaps that's why you love him. He is not predictable, is he?" Irene said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Only in his unpredictability," Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

Irene could see that for Sherlock, the tension of wanting Sarah had been almost unendurable. He had tried to stay away, but couldn't. He had tried treating her like one of his cases, but failed. He had tried to build a relationship by being pleasant or drawing her into his life, but had found her proximity deeply disturbing to his fragile equilibrium.

She recalled a conversation she had once had with Watson soon after Sarah and Sherlock had wed.

"Has there always been this much tension between the two of them?" she had said to Watson in some astonishment.

The sexual tension between the two was thick enough to cut with a knife, Irene thought. It was obvious to Irene that Sherlock was aware of every move Sarah made, even when he was not looking at her, which was most of the time. It was also obvious that Sarah was a barometer of Sherlock's moods.

"Yes, they've always had rather an intense relationship," Watson agreed mildly, remembering the gentle warmth of his relationship with Mary – a totally different animal entirely.

"I don't know how they managed to stay apart so long," Irene said frankly.

"Well, Holmes was deeply suspicious of Sarah at first. Her origins are a bit obscure. He did not want to look foolish if it turned out that Sarah was a fraud, particularly as he was so strongly attracted to her, as we now know," Watson said diffidently, taking out a cigar and lighting it. He felt a bit nervous discussing his friend particularly with such a beautiful and celebrated woman.

"Yes, yes – but that was cleared up eventually. What then?" Irene asked impatiently.

"Holmes had always been aware that his work would endanger any woman in his life. You know that Sarah was shot trying to protect him. It was exactly the sort of thing he was afraid of," Watson explained reasonably.

Irene made an impatient noise.

"If anything was going to prove that Sarah loved Sherlock, it was that! He should have proposed then and there. Why didn't he?" Irene demanded.

Watson sighed. He had said something along the same lines to Holmes at the time, but his friend had simply looked at him like he had started speaking Chinese.

"There was the final barrier, I suppose. There were so many eligible men chasing Miss Mounteney - I mean, Mrs Holmes - that Holmes felt he couldn't compete. He is not wealthy. He has no title or powerful position. How does a private detective ask for a woman's hand when peers of the realm are also asking for it?" Watson argued rationally.

"He must have known Sarah loved him. She put up with quantities of odd behaviour from him for years and in the end, nearly gave her life to save his," Irene said and with an imperious wave of one beautiful hand, swept away Watson's arguments.

Watson was silent for a few minutes.

"To be honest, Mrs Norton, I think Holmes simply could not believe a woman like Sarah could really love someone like him," he finally said quietly, "for all his arrogance regarding his work, human relations are not his strong point. It always seemed to me that Holmes did not expect to be valued by others for anything other than his work."

Irene regarded Watson thoughtfully. It seemed that Holmes' best friend understood him better than anyone else after all.

Irene was drawn back to the present and the small dancer sitting before her.

"So, why fall in love with such a difficult man - a man who is unpredictable and self-destructive?" Irene asked kindly.

That's a good question, Sarah thought.

"I can't rely on him to be consistent in the day to day," Sarah said honestly, "but I can trust him. He's been in my life a long time now and I know if I was ever in trouble, he would do anything he could to help. He wasn't like all the powerful men who offered me many things, but asked for everything I had in return. Sherlock never asked me for anything except the occasional bit of help with one of his cases. Meanwhile, he was putting his resources to work making sure I was safe. That's a rare thing, someone who quietly gives and asks very little in return."

Irene was silent and suddenly felt tears prick her eyes. She seldom felt moved now that she was in her middle years, but something about the quiet seriousness of Sarah's words touched her deeply. It was suddenly obvious that despite all the surface turbulence and tension of their relationship, it was built on very solid foundations.

"Also, Sherlock doesn't ask me to change myself. All these Dukes and Counts and Earls and whatever – they wanted me to give up my dancing and fit into their world. They wanted me to try and pretend to be a lady, while being looked down on by their friends and relatives all the while. Sherlock gives me complete freedom to keep living the way I wish," Sarah added.

"You give him the same freedom. You don't ask him to try a less dangerous career. You don't expect him to be home every night for dinner," Irene pointed out.

Sarah laughed.

"Or even every week for dinner! He would not be Sherlock if he wasn't solving mysteries and hunting down criminals," she said. "Having said all that, I do also find him attractive. You're never going to fall in love with a man you don't find attractive, are you? It wouldn't matter how trustworthy he is or how much freedom he gives you or even how much he may love you, if there is no basic attraction then there is nothing," Sarah said with a grin and a shrug.

"Hmmm, I don't go for the tall, lean, hungry look myself," Irene said with amusement, "but there is no doubt of the powerful attraction between the two of you. It fills up the space between and around you both."

Sarah reflected that it was unlikely Irene would find Holmes physically attractive. After all, both the men in Irene's life that Sarah knew of were not just handsome, but exceptionally so. The King of Bohemia, for his obvious faults, was magnificent in both stature and typical Germanic features. Mr Norton's face and profile was so classically perfect, refined and balanced that he could have been a beautiful sculpture brought to life.

"The heart wants what it wants," Sarah said with a shrug and a wry smile.

"Or else it does not care," Irene finished the quote and the two smiled warmly at each other in perfect concord.

One evening, after a long day of rehearsals in the ship's ballroom, Sarah opened the door of her first class cabin to find Holmes sitting cross legged in one of the room's armchairs, meditatively smoking like a chimney. There was no trace of disguise. His angular face was clean shaven, his dark hair combed meticulously into place and his linen was impeccable. Even if she had not been able to see him, she would have known he was there. It was the unmistakable scent of his tobacco and aftershave.

Sarah's face lit up and she immediately went over to him. He was out of the chair before she could reach him and he wrapped his long arms around her, holding her close against him as he kissed her.

After quite some time, he finally lifted his head and looked down at her seriously. She put her hands on either side of his face and returned his gaze, examining his thin features carefully. He seemed to be fine.

"I have no idea what your disguise was this week," Sarah said with a grin.

"Excellent, then it worked. Fortunately, none of my enemies appear to be aboard, so we can relax now until we reach America," he said.

"Good," Sarah said with relief. "How did you get in here anyway?" Sarah asked with a frown, realising that he did not have a key to her cabin as yet.

"I just broke in, of course. A very basic skill for a private detective," he said, his lean mouth twitching into a smile.

"Sorry I asked," Sarah replied, "I have a key for you anyway, so no need for any more burglary tricks."

But Holmes wasn't interested in talking any further that night.

Sarah knew that once they returned from the Americas, Sherlock would still face one of his most dangerous enemies, Colonel Moran. She also knew that Sherlock would deal with him in his usual brilliant fashion.

Despite all his perilous adventures and terrifying enemies, she already knew from Dr Watson's writings that Sherlock would live to a ripe old age and retire to the country to keep bees, but Sarah now also knew that she would be retiring there with him.

FINIS

 _For last year's words belong to last year's language,_

 _And next year's words await another voice._

 _And to make an end is to make a beginning._

 _T S Eliot_

 _A/N – Once again, thank you to the readers who took the time to write reviews. It is very much appreciated. I have enjoyed your company along the way._


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